


A Beautiful Disaster

by concupiscence66



Category: Nathan Barley (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, smallfandombang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concupiscence66/pseuds/concupiscence66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan "The Preacher  Man" Ashcroft has accepted that "well futile" isn't just a moronic saying - it's a way of life- but every time Dan tries to give in to despair, hope rears its ugly head and lures him back to reality.</p>
<p>Discovering he has a fully grown daughter from a (very) youthful affair with a brilliant writer leads Dan to reflect on his life (and drink a lot of whiskey). It also sets in motion a series of events that could very well change his life for the better. Can Dan change? Can he accept love, success and good fortune? Dan is pretty sure the answer is a hard 'no' but hope springs eternal.</p>
<p>Like an incurable STD.</p>
<p>Amazing artwork available at http://karneol-vision.livejournal.com/223284.html#t2734388</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Disaster in Progress

The House of Jones reverberated with the sounds of carefully layered beats, a cacophony of sound so overwhelming it allowed no room for thought. One could only surrender to the sound, like an infant in a womb.

 

The moment the noise ends, Dan Ashcroft is awake. It's like being born again every morning. Each day finds him being expelled from the warm security of mindless comfort into the ugly world of Nathan Barley.

 

The idiots aren't winning, they've won. Dan is a dinosaur.

 

xxx

 

Dan 'The Preacher Man' Ashcroft is a fucking hero for our times. If you, like, totally hate things that are, like, fake and shit - you'll love Dan Ashcroft 'cause he keeps it fucking real.

 

Dan 'The Preacher Man' Ashcroft was considering keeping it well real by tying together some trashbat.co.ck tee-shirts and hanging himself in Nathan Barley's living room. Maybe he'd do it on Christmas morning so the little tit could wake up and find his hero turned blue, tongue protruding from his mouth and reeking from having shit himself. Nathan could take a picture and turn it into a tee-shirt to celebrate the martyrdom of the one man in England who truly understood the phrase, "Well futile."

 

After the atrocities of the day Dan tried to destroy Nathan Barley, the human equivalent of a cockroach, Jonatton Yeah? had offered him twice the usual price for a feature story.

 

"Self-loathing, authenticity, bad language, etcetera? The usual Dan Ashcroft bit. Mention idiots? Just, you know, make it..."

 

Jonatton made his melodramatic 'Dan' face.

 

Dan had been selling his soul on the cheap for the past year, it was about time he got some decent money for it.

 

He wrote an article called Dan "the Preacher Man" Ashcroft: King of the Idiots. It was a tribute to self-loathing (check), a scathing indictment of idiots (double check), contained lots of salty language (triple check) and Claire assured him it was full of the usual 'Dan Ashcroft bullshit': Connect four. Pretty sneaky, sis.

 

The article was adored by the very people it was meant to alienate. Nathan Barley thanked him for the name check.

 

Among the most loathsome of idiots is Nathan Barley. He has no room left for a soul because he's too full of catch phrases. He can barely form a coherent sentence and yet he is the voice of thousands. His website, www.trashbat.co.ck, lacks the substance to be put in a bag, set on fire and left on someone's doorstep and yet his shit has disciples. They go to the church of bat droppings to find out how low they can sink before they simply disappear.

 

The article led to a huge surge in hits for the website, doubling Nathan's followers. If there was enough humanity left in Nathan to be wounded by the article, the twit hid it well and continued to treat Dan as though they were bosom buddies and not mortal enemies. 

 

Maybe Dan wouldn't kill himself in Nathan's flat. Maybe he'd just kill Nathan. Would prison really be so bad? Regular meals. His own bed. No one expecting him to pay his bills or be a useful member of society. He'd finally have to sober up. Claire would come visit him with little cakes instead of just glaring at him for being such a terrible brother.

Yes, he was a terrible brother but, surely, she was used to it by now. It's not like being self-absorbed was a personality trait he'd only recently acquired. He'd always been a bit of a dick. He was eight when Claire came into his world and he'd resented her bitterly for intruding. Nearly thirty years later, he was no less self-centered and selfish but he did rather love his sister. It was hard not to love someone who loved you and admired you for absolutely no good reason.

 

Unless that person was Nathan fucking Barley.

 

xxx

 

There was never a point that Dan was happy to be working for Sugar Ape. It was never a good magazine, but it was a magazine willing to hire one Dan Ashcroft straight out of university. The former editor, Mars, had hired Dan without an interview based on one article, The Non-Dream of the Nineties. It was about wanting to work part-time and be in at least three bands while living in a filthy squat. She called him the voice of his generation.

 

In those days, he had honestly believed he could change, if not the world, then at least the crappy magazine where he worked. He believed thoughtful, well-written and challenging articles would shake the place up, get the other writers out of their trendy fog. Dan had believed, back then, that he could change things for the better. 

 

Nothing really changed when Jonatton Yeah? came aboard. It was the same bullshit, different day but, by then, Dan had given up. Mars still remembered a hopeful and enterprising Dan Ashcroft. Jonatton only knew the wreck he had become.

 

xxx

 

Checking his e-mail had become a full-time job since his appearance on "Trash Bat on Telly". The Preacher Man was gaining disciples by the day; Idiots tripping over themselves to worship Dan as some kind of Hipster Messiah.

 

Most of the e-mails could be deleted based on their subject lines.

 

"Preacher Man!"

 

"Fuck the idiots"

 

"Best thing about TBOT"

 

"Your sister is hot"

 

Today, there was a subject line that made him smile.

 

"Marilyn Arthur"

 

Mrs. Arthur. 

 

The only thing in school that had ever interested Dan was writing. That was why his mother signed him up for a weekend writing course when he was sixteen, she hoped it would foster his interest in 'bettering himself' and that he would go to university, or at least stop smoking so much pot.

 

He didn't have to hear Mrs. Arthur speak to know she was an American. One look at her and you knew she was, well, fucking American. She was into yoga and karma and giving a shit about things. At the time, she had seemed so wise. In retrospect, maybe she was just a run of the mill hippy, but she had taught Dan a lot of things.

 

And not just about writing.

 

In fact, she really didn't teach him much about writing at all. She was more interested in openness and honesty than comma splices or learning how to use a semicolon. Her own writing was impeccable but, from her students, punctuation was secondary.

 

She taught him not to be afraid to swear in front of adults and not to be afraid of writing things that would hurt the people he loved. She said a good writer had to be ruthless. She taught him to take chances, and expose himself.

 

She taught him how to perform cunnilingus and he was pretty sure the skills he'd learned at sixteen were the only reason any woman ever slept with him twice.

 

For the first time in a year, Dan was happy to open an e-mail.

 

Dear Mr. Ashcroft,

 

I'm sorry to inform you that Dr. Marilyn Arthur passed away in June. I understand you knew my mother twenty-two years ago. In fact, briefly before her passing, she informed me that I am the result of your 'knowing' my mother. I'm not looking for anything, other than a little medical history, but I would like to meet you while I'm in London. I'm spending a year at Cambridge so, while there's no rush, I can't help but feel it would be creepy for us to continue walking around the same town without meeting.

 

My mother spoke highly of you in the end. She said she didn't want to tie you down with obligations for which you were not ready. It was very important to her that you explore your gift as a writer, and she was pleased with your success. I've seen your work at Sugar Ape. Although I don't quite understand why you've chosen this particular publication, I really enjoyed some of your articles.

 

Please contact me, either by e-mail or by phone. I don't want much of your time. I know this must be quite a shock for you. It's still a bit of a shock for me. I had no idea she was certain of my father's identity. 

 

Sincerely,

 

Lenore Arthur

 

Dan read the message twice.

 

He hit delete.

 

He could hear his own voice yelling, "idiot" over and over. It was Ned Smanks playing with the Preacher Man app on his phone.

 

He had a child.

 

He had a fully grown child who'd walked the Earth for two decades without him having a clue.

 

He retrieved the e-mail from his 'recently deleted' file.

 

Possibly the only sexual encounter in his life that hadn't started with hard liquor and ended with self-loathing had produced a human being.

 

Maybe she wasn't his.

 

It was a matter of minutes to track down his alleged daughter on the internet. She was as plugged in as one would expect for her age. He pulled up her Facebook page and stared at a picture of a young woman with curly dark hair and small, worried looking eyes.

 

Fucking hell.

 

Claire would be happy. Everything about the overly serious expression on Lenore's face told him that she and Claire would get along. 

 

It would take pressure off Claire to start producing grandchildren. And to think, their parents had already given up on Dan. Wait until he told his mum to start knitting an extra large pink blanket for his baby girl.

 

He hit delete and tried to go back to writing his article about the imminent death of the written word.

 

People can't the bollocked to write out words anymore, why the fuck would they read? Do u c the point in magz?

 

He retrieved the deleted e-mail.

 

He needed someone to support him in his old age.

 

xxx

 

Claire looked annoyed, odds were always good that Dan was the cause, but it could also be Nathan Barley. She was even more trapped in Barley's loathsome web than he. 

 

"How's your article going?" Claire asked as soon as he sat down. He had no delusion it was idle banter, she wanted to know if he would actually be finishing this article, and paying her the 500 pounds he owed her. Claire was trying to finish her god-awful junkie film and wasn't taking bailing Dan out of jail for 'drunk and disorderly' conduct with her usual aplomb.

 

He'd written 100 words in three days.

 

"I have a daughter."

 

"I need that money, Dan. I'm close to having this film finished and... What did you just say?"

 

A man with shame would have admitted he was struggling with the article - feeling blocked - but Dan continued on his current track. Maybe having a child wasn't so bad after all.

 

"I just found out today. I have a daughter. I'm a dad. More or less."

 

Claire's look of horror bordered on offensive. It couldn't be that terrible an idea that Dan should have passed on his genes. He was tall, he didn't have any food allergies and he could curl his tongue. A fetus would be lucky to have half his genetic code.

 

A fetus was lucky. That fetus was now an adult. Dan scanned the room, looking for any young girls with curly dark hair and squinty eyes. She could be anywhere.

 

"Who is she? Are you sure? What are you going to do, Dan? You can barely take care of yourself. You live in a squat and you're still barely surviving! How are you going to support a child?"

 

Dan took a moment to relish Claire's concern which, though still borderline offensive, made him feel loved.

 

"She's an adult, twenty-two... twenty-one... I'm not sure exactly. She's doing a year at Cambridge and wants to meet me."

 

Claire furrowed her brow as she did the math, and looked disgusted. 

 

"Who were you getting off with when you were fifteen?"

 

"Sixteen," Dan corrected, "I know I was sixteen because the course was a birthday gift..."

 

"No!" Claire yelled in horror, "Not Mrs. Arthur! She wouldn't! Not with you."

 

Dan wanted to explain that Mrs. Arthur had seen something in a young Dan Ashcroft, a sensitivity and a soulfulness beyond his years, but it seemed much more likely Mrs. Arthur just liked getting off with younger men. 

 

He gave Claire what he hoped was a sufficiently apologetic look for having sullied her hero. Claire was a big fan of Marilyn Arthur and envied the time Dan had spent with her. Claire had given up on writing, she really was hopeless in that department, but she relished the work of anyone she believed to be utterly sincere. Dan had been at university when Claire discovered Marilyn and his weekends home were spent with a wide-eyed Claire, metaphorically at his feet, eager to hear tales of intellectual thrills from going to university (getting pissed and writing papers containing swear words) and having been taken under the wing (they did spend time on his writing as well) of Marilyn Arthur. The hero worship of those days wasn't completely destroyed when a plucky young Claire left her familial home in Leeds, and struck out to see the wonders of London with her brother - the big shot magazine writer. In fact, she'd been excited by the squat during her first visit. Jones, who had been living on his own since the age of fourteen, had been a Dickensian hero for a young Claire. 

 

A bit of the shine had worn off over the years, but she clearly still loved Jones and Dan. As the woman of the house, she had taken on the stereotypically feminine tasks of monitoring their nutrition (yelling at them to eating some "fucking vegetables before you die of scurvy!"), encouraging good hygiene (by saying, "Dan, you smell like hot garbage," or putting deodorant on Jones while he slept) and, of course, house cleaning. Dan had more than one relaxing shower destroyed by Claire handing him bleach and a rag through the curtain, and making him scrub out the shower since he was, "already in there." She could get Jones to spend hours mopping if she played the right mix. 

 

"So? When are you going to meet her? Where is she staying? What is she studying?"

 

Dan shrugged and Claire looked - surprise - disgusted. 

 

"This is your child, Dan. Hopefully the only one you'll ever have. Or already have. You are being safe, aren't you? I know you're usually shit faced when you pull but... Christ. There could be more."

 

Dan and Claire looked out the window of the coffee shop, and watched all of Dan's potential spawn go by. 

 

xxx

 

Lenore suggested a trendy, outdoor cafe near the Sugar Ape offices. Dan's first instinct was to suggest somewhere less insufferable but decided it was probably best that they see one another in a place that was proud to serve ethically raised meat, organic fruits and veggies and fair trade coffee, but somehow never managed to hire anyone that wasn't young, white, thin and beautiful. Liking a place like that wouldn't necessarily make his daughter a bad person, but it would be a good indicator that they weren't going to have much in common.

 

Part of Dan hoped that Lenore would hate the place, not so much to prove she was like Dan, but to show the influence of Marilyn on her psyche. Marilyn Arthur was the queen of seeing through the bullshit and the idiocy.

 

Dan spent the morning working on his article. It was going badly. He had 1,000 words but all but 233 were just the work 'fuck' copied and pasted over and over again.

 

"You fucking cunt. You fucking cunt. You fucking cunt."

 

Dan wearily raised his head at the sound of his own voice. It was Ned, again. He had been downloading the new ringtones from trashbat.co.ck. It was well plastic to have Dan Ashcroft growling obscenities from your mobile. Dan didn't even remember when he'd called Nathan a fucking cunt, it could have been during any of their interactions, and it was unnerving to hear his response out of context. Human interaction is all about context, but Nathan stripped the world of its humanity in order to make a few quid for his website. 

 

He was the antichrist. 

 

Claire thought Dan was too hard on Nathan because he 'didn't mean any harm.' Dan knew that Claire was being too soft. The Nathan Barleys of the world were able to continue their reign of terror because they seemed too daft and weak to be 'reigning' anything. That was how they were slowly destroying the civilized world.

 

Ned smiled at Dan and held up his phone, "Well fucking futile, Dan. Preacher Man. Spreading the gospel."

 

Dan just stared until Ned stopped talking. He had advocated for the hiring of Ned Smanks five years ago. Ned had been fresh from studying at the Rhode Island School of Design in the states. He'd been young, talented and full of potential. 

 

He had been an idiot in sheep's clothing. 

 

Dan believed there was still hope for Ned. He'd caught his co-worker staying late to work on his asinine designs. Actually, the design wasn't terrible. The content was garbage, but the graphics were beautiful. The fact that Ned stayed late to work on a picture on Brad Pitt getting fingered by George Clooney for the "Clooney Rules the World" edition of Sugar Ape told Dan that there was someone in the office still taking pride in his work.

 

Dan was in the office late because he'd fallen asleep at his desk after a heavy lunch (and some whiskey).

 

Even the atrocity that was Dan's current profile picture for Sugar Ape was beautiful. It was too beautiful. They had replaced the picture of young, clean shaven, sober Dan with a new picture in which he looked like a cross between James Dean and Jesus. Dan's guess was Jonatton had said to Ned, "Get a new profile pic for Dan Ashcroft. Try to make him look like a cross between James Dean and Jesus Christ?" Dan had yelled at Ned for tampering with the picture but after seeing the negative, he had to admit the photo was accurate. It was of Dan smoking outside the office, squinting because of the sun. With everything stripped from the photo, Dan appeared to be gazing thoughtfully into the horizon. Stripped of context, Dan looked like a mixture of a Hollywood bad boy and a messiah. No wonder Nathan Barley wouldn't leave him alone. Nathan had no use for context.

 

Dan pulled up Lenore's Facebook page. They weren't 'friends' so he couldn't see much but her picture and her current status.

 

Meeting my father for the first time, today. I wonder if he'll drink coffee or tea.

 

Dan spent the next two hours wondering if he should order coffee or tea.


	2. The Meeting(s)

Dan's heart was pounding out of his chest. He was still hung-over and craved more black coffee but the fear of an imminent stroke or heart attack told him to go with a nice chamomile. 

 

Was chamomile too friendly? Would it make Dan seem like the kind of emotionally available person who could become a father in his late thirties? He didn't want to send that message. 

 

He also didn't want to come off as a total fuck up.

 

He'd had four coffees at the office and one on the way in. Sasha asked him if he'd had a rough night. He stared at her blankly and tried to decided whether or not to confide in her until she had to answer the phone. Interactions like that might be part of the reason Dan was never allowed to spend the night when they slept together. Sasha didn't want him to meet her children. The idea that having his own child might deepen their connection was born and died a quick, and nearly painless death in Dan's brain over a period of seconds. Sasha was a proper mother who didn't want her children to meet her 'boyfriends' until she was sure they were viable candidates for a real relationship. Dan had slept with Sasha five times in the past year but he knew he was nowhere near her concept of 'viable'. He was just available. 

 

Only Claire and Jones knew his secret. Jones had turned off his music and asked Dan, "What's wrong with your face?" and listened patiently as Dan explained the situation. Then he filled the house with so much noise, Dan's thoughts couldn't hope to compete, and he fell into a restful sleep. He and Jones had been living together for well over a decade, moving towards their second. Dan Jones was Dan Ashcroft's best friend. Jones knew Dan had a daughter, and Dan knew Jones had a given name. By Dan's standards, it was a pretty intimate relationship.

 

The cafe was full but the lunch rush had already passed. He wondered if it was a coincidence or if Lenore had inquired about the best time to arrive.

 

It took him a while to find her amongst all the other studenty type people tapping away on their laptops. Her dark hair was long and hung loose on her shoulders. She batted at it with the irritation of someone unaccustomed to having hair in her face. She must have worn it down for their meeting. She was dressed in the preppy, conservative style of an American studying at Cambridge. She wore a pink cardigan and khaki pants with shoes that looked both expensive and sensible. Dan had showered and shaved that morning. Before leaving the office, he'd used eye drops so his eyeballs lacked their usual red tinge. All this minutia somehow seemed significant; it all meant something though Dan didn't care to examine it too deeply. He'd tried therapy in his twenties, and decided it was better that he and his unconscious mind remain amicable strangers.

 

He was trying to form an appropriate greeting - "Hello, I'm Dan. Welcome to England. Spot of tea?" or, "Dan Ashcroft: writer, drinker, misanthrope, haver of unprotected sex," - when she looked up.

 

He couldn't be sure if she said, "Dan?" or, "dad?" but he stuck his hand out anyway.

 

Lenore half stood up for the handshake and gestured for him to sit down. It felt disturbingly like an interview.

 

"What qualifications do you have to influence all my future relationships with men?" 

 

Lenore took off her glasses and closed her laptop.

 

"So," she began, "You were a student of my mother's?"

 

Dan nodded, "Yes. Yes I was."

 

She let the uncomfortable silence linger as Dan failed to think of anything else he could say on the matter. 

 

"She spoke highly of you," Dan nearly jumped when she spoke, "In the end. She never mentioned you before. Obviously. Just at the end, but she knew all about your career. I think she kept tabs on you."

 

Dan wanted to believe Marilyn kept tabs on him because she believed in his gift. On the other hand, he didn't want to believe she had been reading the shit he shoveled for Sugar Ape. As though reading his mind, Lenore moved aside a few books on Child Development to reveal the issue of Sugar Ape hidden beneath.

 

"Suga Rape. Clever," Lenore commented with barely disguised disgust.

 

"It's Sugar Ape," Dan wondered why he sounded so defensive, "It's always been Sugar Ape, they just changed the formatting... because the magazine is run by a bunch of fucking idiots."

 

"That word! It's been haunting me since I read, 'The Rise of the Idiots'. It's a great article but..." Lenore pulled at the gold chain around her throat as she thought - just the way Marilyn had done, "I think it made me paranoid? now, I'm always wondering if I'm being an idiot. I was ordering my coffee like I always do and then I started wondering if it's really how I like my coffee or if it just sounds good to get 'half-caf' and then I wondered if I should have gotten tea... I'm sorry, I'm babbling."

 

Dan shook his head, "Generally, if you're self-aware enough to care about being an idiot - you're probably all right."

 

Lenore smiled, "Do you get that a lot?"

 

"Yeah, I do," Dan could hear the wheels of their conversation grinding to a halt.

 

"Are you working on an article now?" Lenore asked, pulling a hair tie from her wrist and putting her hair into a messy bun; the hairstyle of the young intellectual female. Dan wondered if she had left her hair down so as not to look like an idiot.

 

"I'm writing about the death of the printed word. It's bollocks."

 

Lenore smiled, "No, it's interesting. The medium is undergoing such a drastic change. My mother says... said..."

 

Lenore's eyes suddenly welled with tears, clearly caught off guard by her verbal slip. As she frantically blinked, Dan took the opportunity to make the situation slightly more uncomfortable. It seemed better than ruining some other future, pleasant moment in their conversation.

 

"What happened?"

 

Lenore held her hands to her cheeks as she spoke, another habit of her mother's, "Bone cancer. It was terrible but it was quick. After the diagnosis, she knew she wouldn't have much time so she got her affairs in order..." Lenore gave a mirthless laugh, "Affairs being the salient word for me. I always thought there was some mystery around my parentage. She was divorced at the time and her career was taking off. I can't blame her for wanting to... live life to the fullest."

 

Dan still liked to think his parents had only had sex twice - once for him and once for Claire - and that his mum hadn't enjoyed it either time. Parental sexuality is never an easy pill to swallow.

 

"I don't know anything about her personal life other than what I experienced... She seemed happy. Passionate. About literature that is, not..."

 

"Got it. So, you took one of her courses?"

 

Dan nearly relaxed as they chatted about Dr. Arthur's class. When the waitress arrived, Lenore ordered her half-caf black and Dan ordered his Earl Grey with milk - the way he imagined a proper English father should under such circumstances . Lenore listened with a rapt attention that was sweet, and a bit depressing. She must have thought she had decades to learn about her mother and now she had to rely on information from strangers. Strangers - like her father.

 

She offered no information about herself, rarely even an opinion, rather she focused on her mother and Dan. 

 

"Do you write?" Dan asked, apropos of nothing. Lenore physically reeled at the sudden change in topic.

 

"No! I mean, I write papers but I don't write. I'm not a writer. Even if I were... it would be a lot of pressure."

 

Dan's decision to be a writer had been made in a haze of marijuana smoke and hormones. He hadn't really considered the realities of trying to support himself on his writing talents. His parents hadn't given him the expected speech on finding a practical source of income, they had been too excited he was going to university. They had seemed resigned to raising a professional dole collector by the time he was fourteen and had already moved on to Claire who was an overachiever from birth. The only time his parents had spoken to him about being practical was when Claire started to show in interest in being a 'creative type'. That was the phrase they used, "Claire's showing an interest in being a creative type like you. Maybe you could talk to her about the realities of your lifestyle. She'd make such a good doctor or teacher..."

 

Dan did nothing to encourage Claire's interest in the arts. He still didn't. Claire had spent the last five years as a film maker, and Dan had to agree with his parents. Claire would make an excellent doctor or teacher. 

 

"I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't met your mother. I never had any ambitions other than... I had no ambitions. I'm not sure I have any now."

 

"There must be something. The great American novel... or whatever the cliché is here. You can't be happy at Sugar Ape. It's garbage. No offense."

 

Dan waved away her half-apology. He could hardly defend Suga Rape, "It is garbage but it pays. Sometimes. Enough."

 

"I'm sure you could still crank out your articles and work on something worthwhile on the side. That article about the peeing guy? Did you even write that? It had a couple of lines that sounded like you, but I could tell right away you were outsourcing. Do more of that. Find someone who can write and work out a deal..."

 

"That's plagiarism. It's rather looked down on in the field..."

 

"Do you really want to spend the rest of your forties working at a magazine that thinks rape jokes are edgy? My mother believed in you..."

 

"I'm not in my forties," Dan snapped, clearly his eye drops had been in vain, "I'm thirty-seven."

 

He watched her face change as she started to do the math in her head. 

 

She didn't know. 

 

He frantically tried to think of a way to distract her and considered throwing her books on the floor before settling on the less violent but equally ineffective, "Stop thinking about it! Don't try and do the math. Where did you buy your shoes?"

 

Dan Ashcroft had never been good under pressure.

 

"Fifteen? Oh my God, you were fifteen when you and my mom..."

 

"Sixteen. I know I was sixteen. I'm nearly thirty-eight now."

 

Lenore had gone pale and looked unwell, "Ew, ew, ew! What the fuck? This is... Good lord! This is what I learn about my mother after she dies. I find out she was a pedophile."

 

"Sixteen is legal here. It was probably legal there as well. The eighties? They were a crazy time."

 

"Yeah, the Reagan years were known for the free love with minors. What the fuck? I need to wash my brain down with bleach! She said you were young but... I thought she meant too young for her or maybe you needed to finish up grad school. I didn't think you were still studying for your driver's test and wrestling with the, what? Agonies of acne? This is so... ew! Why? Was that just something she did? Did she have a whole string of prepubescent lovers?"

 

"I was a very mature sixteen. I was... quite tall," he'd been a pretty immature sixteen-year-old but he had been tall. His growth spurt the year before had left him tall and gangly. When he'd met Marilyn, he was still having troubles with bumping his head and walking into things. He hadn't yet grown accustomed to his suddenly man-sized body.

 

"Did you look older? Did she know how young you were at the time?" Lenore's expression screamed lie to me so Dan obliged.

 

"No one ever guessed I was sixteen back then. I was very tall and quite serious. I'm not sure if your mother ever actually asked my age. She probably assumed I was considerably older."

 

Marilyn knew he was sixteen. She said it was a marvelous age to be and Dan had believed her, despite all his personal experience to the contrary. She had made it good to be sixteen. Instinct told him Lenore would not want to hear anything of the sort, at the moment.

 

Lenore was nodding and eating up the lies, "That makes sense. Maybe later on she realized you were way, way, way, way to young for her to be even thinking about in that way much less... Oh, it's so gross."

 

The waitress chose that moment to deliver Dan's Earl Grey. He was grateful to have something to focus on other than the sordid, and apparently nausea inducing love affair of his misspent youth. 

 

"I'm sorry, I know I said black, but can I have some cream and sugar? A lot of cream and sugar? I'm having a rough day," Lenore explained to the disaffected waitress. When the waitress left, Lenore turned to Dan and explained that she loved the cafe but only at two o'clock. 

 

"From early morning until about 1:30, this place is hopping with people in ironic tee-shirts and headgear for their stupid phones. I miss the days when only the severely mentally ill talked to themselves in public. I mean, look at that dickhead with two headsets. What could possibly be the point?"

 

Dan followed her disdainful gaze. He then yelled, "No!" and hurled his tea at the offending presence before taking the time to wonder if he was making a bad impression on his offspring.

 

The tea sailed over the dickhead who ducked at just the right moment. It's not like Nathan Barley wasn't used to having things thrown in his direction.

 

"Preacher Man! Fancy seeing you here. Thought this place would be too full of idiots for you," Nathan called out as he biked his way through the tables, "Or are you slumming for this tasty piece of American cheese?"

 

Lenore furrowed her brow, "How can you tell I'm American?'

 

"Lots of things but, mainly the raw sexuality you exude - even in that lovely little cardy," Nathan was leaning in towards Lenore who did not pull back. She simply stared back as though she were at the zoo and there was a safe layer of Plexiglas between her and the 'missing link' Nathan Barley. She should have been flinging poo, it was the only way she'd be safe.

 

Nathan leaned towards Dan and stage whispered, "Bit young, eh? Robbin' the cradle, you dirty old cock fart? Yeah?"

 

Dan smiled and leaned in towards Nathan. Nathan still didn't know Dan well enough to be scared. He never saw the warning signs.

 

Dan grabbed him by the ear and growled, "That's my daughter, you piece of shit. Don't you dare even look at her. Touch her, and you are a dead man."

 

Nathan tried to laugh it off but he'd gone pale. Lenore had put on her glasses and was looking rather frosty.

 

"Now, apologize," Dan ordered.

 

"I'm sorry... Dan's daughter."

 

Nathan's look of contrition was sincere enough to make Dan let go in disgust.

 

"It's Lenore and, in the future, perhaps you should treat all the women you meet like they're Dan's daughter," Lenore said in a stern voice, "No lady wants to be called a tasty piece of American cheese. American cheese is disgusting."

 

"Nathan!"

 

Dan smiled at the schoolmarm quality to Claire's voice. He found it amusing when it was being aimed at someone other than him. His sister was fast approaching, glaring at Nathan and casting furtive glances at Lenore.

 

"What are you doing here, Nathan? I told you to leave it," Claire said sternly as Nathan moved slightly behind Dan, as though Dan would ever protect the little titmouse. The only time Dan ever stepped into the path of Claire's wrath was to protect Jones on those occasions when he miscalculated Claire's enthusiasm for a great mix (usually around 4am). He'd literally jumped in front of a flying, half-drank bottle of vitamin water to spare his flat mate. Admittedly, he'd landed on Jones (doing the man more damage than the small plastic bottle ever could), but he and Jones still liked to recount his selfless act of bravery.

 

"I was just coming for a latte and saw my boy, Dan, here with this lovely... er... his lovely daughter," Nathan explained. Dan actually growled at the word lovely. He hoped Lenore didn't notice. Based on her expression, she may well have growled herself.

 

"No, Nathan, you knew I was looking for Dan and you followed me," Claire barked as Nathan continued to cower behind the somehow less threatening Ashcroft, "You're such a child. Let Dan have his privacy."

 

"Lenore, this is my sister - Claire. Claire, this is Lenore."

 

Lenore and Claire did an awkward handshake/hug type thing that further convinced Dan the two would be fast friends under different, less bizarre circumstances.

 

"I'm Nathan Barley of trashbat.co.ck and "Trash Bat on Telly". It's pretty huge here. Claire and your old man here..."

 

"I've seen your work," Lenore interrupted, "It's good there's something on TV for people who find Jackass too 'high brow'."

 

Nathan laughed and gave Lenore a fist-bump, "Spoken like a true Ashcroft. Well ironic! So where's Dan been hiding you all these years?"

 

"America," was Lenore's clipped response.

 

"Yeah, course. So..." Dan smiled as Nathan faltered. Nathan seemed to take this as a friendly gesture. Fucking idiot.

 

"Yeah, America. Are you coming to the Sugar Ape party on Friday?"

 

Dan's throat closed. He needed something else to throw at Nathan. 

 

Lenore tugged at her necklace, "No. I'm... no."

 

Nathan duck walked over to Lenore, carefully staying away from Claire.

 

"You need to be there! See your old man drink everyone under the table. Maybe Claire'll get her tits out..."

 

Claire leaned over the table and hit Nathan on the head with her bag.

 

"Jones will be D.J.ing. All the people from the telly show'll be there, you should be there," Nathan implored.

 

Lenore cast an awkward look at Dan who could only shrug. He didn't relish the idea of his surprise daughter and crap job coming together. Besides, Sugar Ape went all out on the open bar and Dan would be taking full advantage. What kind of example was that to set for a twenty-something-year-old daughter?

 

"I'll see how work goes. I can always get the deets from Dan and Claire," Lenore said, her tone placating.

 

"Dan the Preacher Man is a dad. Well ironic."

 

"Do you have any idea what the work 'ironic' means?" Dan asked with sincere interest.

 

"Good one, Dan!"

 

"Go away," Dan growled, "Now!"

 

"Grrr! I'd better go, Papa Bear is angry. Come on, doll snatch. We've got work to do."

 

Claire rolled her eyes but stood up and followed Nathan, leaving Dan and Lenore alone. Claire had been Dan's plan of escape if things went badly with Lenore. Now she was gone and if things went badly, as they surely would, Dad had nothing but his wits on which to rely. That was not a reassuring thought. 

 

"So, I've seen you on that dickhead's show. Why? I mean... Why?"

 

She looked more interested than judgmental so Dan answered as honestly as he could.

 

"I'm a fuck up. I fuck up. A lot. And Nathan is always there, like a vulture - pecking at the carcass of my dignity. He's the biggest idiot of them all and sometimes I have to go to him so we can afford electricity for the month. Well, I'm usually repaying Claire what I owe her so she can afford to pay the electricity. Nathan Barley... It's a less dangerous but far more degrading form of prostitution."

 

"Why is he so in love with you?" Lenore asked as she watched Claire walking away, with Nathan riding in circles around her, "I get why he loves Claire but what does he see in you that makes him..."

 

Lenore trailed off, probably before she said something insulting about Dan's looks, lifestyle, talent, career, personal smell... there were so many things she could comment on. 

 

But not the shifty little eyes, she had those as well. She was tallish with curly-ish hair and smallish eyes. That all came from Dan. If there was a cynical gene, Dan assumed she got that from him as well. Marilyn Arthur embraced the world with loving arms and impeccable word choice. 

 

"I must have read Finding the Horizon a dozen times," Dan announced, deciding to move the conversation in a less ego threatening direction, "It might be a perfect novel."

 

Lenore smiled, "She used to yell at it, when she was writing? She'd yell at the manuscript for not being right. She was usually so quiet when she wrote, but that one vexed her. It was her troublesome child."

 

Dan briefly considered, and then vetoed asking Lenore if she had been a troublesome child. If that had been any of his business, Marilyn probably would have mentioned it to him herself. She had wisely kept him out of the equation until their daughter was a finished project.

 

Their daughter.

 

"Why didn't you ever try to contact her? If you were a fan and you had, you know, history," Lenore looked a bit pale as she said history. 

 

"I wanted to, but I wanted to have something to show her. To let her know she was right about me. Then enough time went by..." it was physically painful to talk about the summation of a wasted youth and a wasted gift. "I didn't expect she would remember me any more."

 

The waitress chose that moment to return to their table, coolly eyeing the shattered tea cup in the street.

 

"Could I have this one to go, please?" Dan asked in his nicest, and hopefully, least crazy sounding voice.

 

"I'll have a cup to go as well," Lenore added with a look at her phone.

 

"So, I know you need to get back to work and I have a meeting... It was nice meeting you and Claire. I mean... Thanks for coming," Lenore stood up and held out her hand as the waitress arrived with their drinks.

 

"Yeah," Dan agreed, as eloquent under pressure as usual, "Nice. Listen, call me if you ever need..."

 

What could Dan possibly have to offer a woman raised by Marilyn Arthur who was studying at Cambridge? He certainly had no words of wisdom or advice. He was too skint to offer to pay for coffee. If she didn't leave money, he was just going to run for it after she left. 

 

"... help figuring out the tube or how to pronounce words. Or to figure out which words need an extraneous u like colour."

 

Lenore laughed and threw too much money on the table, "It's on me, I've been taking up this table for ages. I'll be in touch... if that's okay."

 

Dan nodded and gave what felt like a strained smile. She offered a terse smile in return and walked away.

 

xxx

 

Claire shook her head and looked at Nathan, "Can you imagine having Dan for a dad?"

 

Nathan laughed, not looking up from the screen - he was helping Claire edit the final draft of her documentary - and said, "That would be amazing."

 

Claire stared at the side of his face in horror.

 

"...ly bad," Nathan finished, unconvincingly, "He'd probably always be yelling and drinking, calling me a dickhead."

 

Claire shook her head. Nathan was enthralled with Dan and had been from the day a confused Dan allowed Nathan to write on his knuckles. Dan's befuddled agreement to do a spot for www.trashbat.co.ck had implanted an image in Nathan's mind of Dan as an easy going man, and a kindred spirit. No amount of Dan's open loathing since then had been able to shake Nathan's belief that he and Dan Ashcroft were friends.

 

"What is your dad like?" Claire asked, already anticipating the answer.

 

"Oh, he was mental," Nathan laughed without looking away from the screen, "He was always yelling and drinking."

 

"Calling you a dickhead?"

 

Nathan looked surprised for a moment, "Yeah. How'd you... you are well deep, sugar tits. Sigmund Freud. More like Sigmund Fraud."

 

Claire gave him a pity laugh because he was a damaged child in a man's body and he was actually much better on the editing machine than she. Nathan Barley was a dickhead but he knew how to get things done.

 

Nathan seemed to feel Claire's thoughtful eyes on him and turned. Their eyes met, and Nathan licked his lips in a way he must have imagined to be seductive. Claire rolled her eyes and looked back at the screen to watch the junkie choir in all their un-ironic glory.


	3. Dan Briefly Thinks Life Doesn't Suck

Lenore was lying facedown on the sofa with an empty ice cream container on the floor next to her. Elizabeth couldn't help but take this as a bad sign. Her flat mate was generally introverted and withdrawn but, when she was unhappy, she could be downright ostentatious in her despair. 

 

Elizabeth knew she needed to tread carefully. When Lenore had shown her a picture of the man she had only recently learned was her father, Elizabeth had rather ruined the moment by saying, "Oi, he's fit." It was a week before Lenore was willing to discuss the subject again. Elizabeth had learned from the experience: Even if someone's estranged father does look like a sexy John the Baptist, that's a thought that must be kept to oneself.

 

"How did it go, sweetie?" she asked in her most soothing tone.

 

Lenore turned her face from the pillow just enough to allow her to speak.

 

"Total waste of time. She's a hard core Kohlberg acolyte. What does she care if his stages have no cross-cultural validity? I'm going to have to find someone else to work with, or this year is going to be a total waste of time."

 

"Oh, good. Thanks for telling me, because that is totally what I was asking about. I've been dying to hear how your meeting went with your advisor. It is such a life changing event."

 

She immediately regretted the sarcasm, but Lenore didn't seem offended, in fact, she crawled to a sitting position on the sofa - clutching a pillow to her chest.

 

"Oh. That went fine. He was fine. It was all... fine. Just... fine."

 

Elizabeth marveled at linguistic skill of her hero, Marilyn Arthur's, only child.

 

"So... Fine?"

 

"Fine. I don't know. He's just a guy. He seems nice. He's a bit... broken? He seems pretty beaten down by life. It was kind of sad."

 

Elizabeth gave her best 'I'm here for you' look and resisted the urge to break the tension with a joke, "Are you going to see him again? Did you make plans to keep in touch?"

 

"Just vague, 'I'll be in touch' whatever," Lenore rubbed her eyes wearily, but suddenly perked up, "That guy from Trash Bat? Nathan Barley?"

 

"My boyfriend?" Elizabeth squealed, "Did you ask about him? Is he single? Does he like black girls 'cause I am well into white boys. I like their tiny, flat arses."

 

Lenore rolled her eyes but smiled, "He showed up and invited me to a party. He said Dan would be there and Dan's sister... My aunt. My auntie Claire... Christ, this just gets weirder the more I think about it. Anyway, he said I should come to a party on Friday."

 

"You bitch!" Elizabeth yelled as she gave Lenore a mock punch in the arm, "You know I'm in love with Nathan Barley. He don't make documentaries. He makes shock-you-mental-eezs."

 

Lenore did not share Elizabeth's enthusiasm for bad television, but she did snicker at the imitation as she built herself a pillow fort.

 

"We could go," Lenore suggested in a hesitant voice as she piled throw pillows around herself, "I would go if you went. I don't do parties, but if you were there..."

 

"Are you sure you want me there?" Elizabeth asked, "Do you really want me meeting your dad? I might end up being your step-mum n'all..."

 

She ducked as a throw pillow came at her head, "Go for it. After all, he's only thirty-seven-fucking-years-old."

 

Lenore pulled an afghan around her head, she seemed to be returning to the womb as they spoke. Elizabeth was so distracted by Lenore's odd behavior, it took her a moment to do the math.

 

"Holy fuck! What was he? Like fifteen?"

 

"Sixteen."

 

"And your mom was..."

 

"Forty-two."

 

Elizabeth slapped a hand over her mouth before the word 'cougar' could escape. She grabbed the afghan and began unraveling her friend before she completely disappeared into her cocoon. It was a literal representation of their relationship since they met five weeks earlier, when Lenore had arrive in London - shell-shocked and grieving. Maybe physically building a cocoon was hitting the 'I'm retreating into a shell' metaphor a bit too hard on the head for the daughter of a brilliant author, but Elizabeth wasn't passing judgment. The girl had buried her mother less than four months ago, and just realized her father was barely old enough to have been her baby-sitter. That could make anyone descend in melodrama. 

 

"Come on, Lenny. It's not as bad as all that."

 

"It just seems like such a cliché," Lenore sighed, "My mom, the great author, fucking Holden Caufield."

 

"At least it wasn't Oliver Twist."

 

Elizabeth didn't bother to duck. She considered the barrage of decorative pillows being hurled at her to be tiny, fluffy victories.

 

xxx

 

Dan was pissed but still on his feet when he came home, so Jones knew the meeting had gone relatively well. He'd been half-expecting Dan to either crawl home or be carried in. 

 

Jones leaned into the mic and screamed, "Daddy Dan! Daddy Dan! Daddy Dan!"

 

Dan scowled but soon broke into a smile, and did his white boy dance up to the tables. He looked disappointed when Jones turned off the music and sat on the couch. Dan collapsed next to him like a soufflé.

 

"Claire says she's all right," Jones began, "looks like you but a bit prettier."

 

Dan tried to toss his longish hair coquettishly and turned pale. He grabbed Jones' knee and whispered, "I almost threw up just then. I shouldn't make any more sudden movements."

 

Jones nodded slowly, and plucked the half empty bottle from his friend's hand. Dan's wallet housed little more than moths so Jones wondered who bought him the bottle. There was always someone willing to keep Dan in liquor. Dan was forever surrounded by enablers, like Scarlett O'Hara and her suitors. 

 

"I think you've celebrated enough, old man, you've got a nipper to think about now. What if she needs one of them kidneys?"

 

Dan laughed (it was closer to a giggle) as Jones poked a bony finger in his stomach, "If my kidneys were worth anything, Jonatton Yeah? would've had me sell them on the black market by now so I could write an article about it."

 

Dan's face suddenly fell. Jones gave him a gentle poke in the ribs with his elbow (keeping the 'no sudden movements' rule in mind) and asked, "What's wrong?"

 

"I can't think of a name for the article. I am not as clever as Jonatton Yeah?."

 

"Don't be so hard on yourself, you ain't even got a punctuation mark in your name. How can you compete?" Jones offered consolingly, as he rested his head on Dan's shoulder.

 

"Dan Ashcroft Full Stop," Dan proffered. 

 

Jones mulled it over. It seemed a bit bland.

 

"Dan Ampersand Ashcroft?" Jones countered

 

Dan was giggling again, "Dan Ampersand Question Mark Pound Sign Exclamation Point Ashcroft. It's well cool cause it looks like a swear but actually, it's just a bunch of punctuation?"

 

Jones kept a straight face as he responded, "That is well Mexico."

 

"Oh, Jones," Dan said, wiping a tear from his eye, "I work with the biggest group of retards on the planet. What happened to me? I swear I remember having potential."

 

"You still got potential! Now you're a dad, you can settle down. Start wearing a tie. Start hiding your whiskey in your coffee like a proper gent."

 

"I never saw my dad in a tie," Dan mused as he rested his head on Jones'.

 

"No wonder you're such a shambles," Jones observed, getting a mouthful of Dan's hair in the process, "You need a tie before that kid of yours ends up living in a squat in her thirties."

 

xxx

 

Claire opened the door carefully, half expecting to find Dan and Jones hacked to pieces by one of the neighbors in a long overdue act of vengeance for Jones' all night practice sets. She couldn't think of another reason for the flat to be so quiet at one in the morning.

 

Nathan had gotten an important but oddly silent phone call at ten, and had to regretfully leave Claire on her own with the editing machine. Although she gave him a hard time, more out of habit than anything, she was impressed he'd held on as long as he did. Pingu had fallen asleep by nine. Claire had worked on the film until her eyes actually began to cross before calling it a night.

 

Rather than being scattered about in bloody pieces, Dan and Jones were cuddled on the sofa, sound asleep. Dan appeared to have a tie made out of paper stapled to his shirt. The bottle at his feet was only half empty, no doubt Jones' intervention. Of everyone in the world, Jones came closest to being a good influence on Dan. All her life, Claire had watched everyone - including her parents - indulge Dan in every selfish, self-indulgent and self-destructive whim. Why? Because he was 'special' and 'gifted'. His bosses let him slide, his girlfriends eventually noticed they weren't actually his girlfriends and disappeared without a fuss, his friends adored him, his enemies loved him even more and Marilyn Arthur had a baby with him. It was only Claire and Jones who ever tried to curb Dan's self-destructive behavior and only Jones who ever succeeded. Sometimes Claire thought Dan was testing her patience, wanting her to prove her concern was more than just familial obligation but a true sisterly love. Other times, she just thought he was a dick. Both theories probably had a degree of validity.

 

A month earlier, she had watched Dan literally stagger into a pub and, when he fell over, a random guy caught him and bought him a drink. When Dan eventually threw his arm around Claire and went limp, that same guy and his friend helped carry Dan home. Claire sent Jones a dozen frantic texts during the walk back to the squat to see if he was home, worried the guys might try something when they go to the flat.

 

They'd put Dan down on the sofa and left after assuring Claire her "boyfriend" was a "fucking genius" and "well philosophical". They were already on their way out the door when Jones came running in. Jones' brotherly concern had nearly brought her to tears as her actual brother was now being rolled on his side by Jones so he didn't, "Choke on his own sick. That's what killed Belushi."

 

She didn't cry in front of Jones. She called Dan a wanker to his unconscious face, and went to bed where she cried herself to sleep without really knowing why. For once, she was sorry not to have Jones' music shaking the walls. 

 

The next morning, Claire felt she had some new insight into why Dan needed Jones' infernal racket to clear head. She also decided she was going to finish her film.

 

xxx

 

Claire didn't expect to see Lenore there again, but it was just as easy to walk by the cafe as to take the next street. It seemed worth the effort. 

 

Lenore was there, typing away.

 

"I'm sorry, Lenore, if I'm intruding... I just feel like we should know one another. I mean, I'm your aunt. If there's a god, you're the only niece I'll ever have," Claire explained, holding her hands out as if to prove she was unarmed.

 

Lenore smiled, "Have a seat. I'd love to talk."

 

xxx

 

Two hours later, Lenore was talking to a friend in the states about getting funding for female independent film makers. Claire could hear something in Lenore's voice that said, "I am used to getting what I want. I am accustomed to success." It was the assurance that only came with privilege. The child of Dan Ashcroft was well-connected and had business savvy. It was laughable. Dan was the biggest name as Sugar Ape, and he no clout at the magazine. He was Jonatton Yeah?'s bitch.

 

"She's just remarkable and this film is so relevant and real and important..." Lenore never actually said she'd seen the film as she gushed. She was a more refined Nathan Barley, and she was using her powers for good. Claire stifled any nagging doubts about pulling strings to get ahead. She was thirty, she needed a goddamned break.

 

"Can you fax the info to me at Lenore Publishing? ... That would be amazing, thank you so much, Annie... You're such a sweetheart and I'll get back to you about the rights on Ellen's Ride Back... I'm looking forward to it," Lenore schmoozed her way out of the call and back into her normal voice, "The grant is $25,000 American and your project is right up their ally. Annie's on the final selection committee so, I mean, make sure your proposal looks good and you could have the money by the end of the month."

 

"I don't know what to say. Thank you."

 

Lenore shrugged, "We were friends in college. I see her on Facebook talking about her films. It's just a lucky coincidence."

 

"You don't know what this means to me," Claire's voice sounded raspy to her own ears.

 

"I'm glad I can help. I'm lucky that way, because of my mom. She earned the good fortune and I reap the benefits," said Lenore with a shrug, "And I pass them on. Auntie Claire."

 

xxx

 

Dan stared at the blank screen as his own voice condemned him.

 

"Useless fucking waste of space. Useless fucking waste of space. Useless fuck..."

 

"Answer your fucking phone!" Dan yelled, hurling a package of sticky notes at the man's head. 

 

"Cool your trainers! I'm just showing off my ring tone," Ned explained, "Well vulgar. It's rude, but it's not rude because it's the Preacher Man saying it and not just some guy?"

 

Dan marveled at the logic.

 

"So... I elevate the vulgar to the realm of the righteous?"

 

"I reckon," Ned agreed with hesitation and then, with more confidence, he said, "Well righteous, Preacher Man. Elevating the vulgar."

 

Dan considered grabbing Ned by the throat and squeezing, but that could technically be considered assault as Ned was technically considered a human being. Even Nathan Barley was protected by laws, just like a real person. It was absolute madness.

 

There were times that Dan missed Mars. She had been more than Dan's editor, she was his unwanted mentor. She stood 4'10 and had pink hair. She was loud, tasteless, ruthless and money-hungry. Dan still remembered her forcing him to slouch in his chair just so that she would be able to look down on him as she yelled.

 

Just fucking write something! I don't care if it's shit. People love shit. We need shit in this magazine. You don't like writing shit? Well too fucking bad because you've got bills to pay, Holden, so just have something on my desk by three. Don't give me excuses, don't give me bullshit. Just write. And you know what, Dan? If it's shit, you'll know, because I'll tell you it's shit and make you write it again! You don't have to worry your pretty little head, you just need to do what I tell you.

 

She should have been his mortal enemy, but she was almost a friend. She plowed through Dan's insecurities with her forceful demands. She snapped him out of his apathy with her soulless consumerism. She cheered him up with her pink beehive hair and ever changing glasses. Most importantly, her shrill voice cut through his own endlessly negative internal monologue. 

 

Dan looked at the blank screen and he began to type. After writing "Fuck you, Mars, you tiny bossy cow" a few times, he opened his e-mail, hit "compose" and began to write.

 

Not about the death of the written word but about the summer he spent learning from one of the great writers of her generation. He wrote about her appeal to the masses as well as the critics, and how she had lived the writer's dream. She was already a literary star when Dan knew her, but she went on to be that rare and strange entity, the famous author. She had a warmth and a wisdom that emanated from her books and from her face and body. She loved humanity and it generally loved her back. Dan had spent his adulthood with her writing as his standard of excellence and he always found himself lacking. Marilyn had told him he was afraid of exposing to much of himself and that he over thought every line in order to protect himself from judgment. Twenty-one years later, he continues to wrestle with the same demons as he when he was a teen. He never grew up and he apparently never learned.

 

He wrote about it all, and anything he edited was for Lenore's sake and not his own. He hoped it painted a picture of a remarkable woman who had the ability to inspire instead of intimidate with her great talent. He had no hope of doing the woman justice but when he was done, he felt satisfied - not a familiar sensation. His father hadn't been able to teach him about cars or sports (he was rubbish with both) but he taught Dan that anything short of murderous rage at the idea of someone touching his sister was letting his family down. He taught Dan that if you put peanut butter on both pieces of bread, your PB&J would not get soggy. He bought Dan his first pack of johnnies (two years after he'd become sexually active and a full year after Dan fathered Lenore - before then, Dan relied on the "it probably won't happen" method so popular among teens). There was no point in wondering what kind of father Dan could have been. Until he finished his article, he couldn't afford to buy Lenore a cup of coffee, and he really only had the peanut butter and jelly sandwich advice to pass on. If they were going to continue to walk the planet as strangers sharing DNA, there was one thing Dan had to offer: a two week period of her mother's life. After hitting send on the e-mail, he went back to work on his article on the death of the written word, Mars' squeaky voice ringing in his ears.

 

Everyone with a laptop, and an ill-informed opinion, is a journalist. The internet has evened the playing field between the devoted writer honing his craft, and the fuckwad with a laptop - actually, the fuckwad might have the advantage - and yet real writing survives. Since man first used tools to preserve his narrative for the ages, there has been a Neanderthal tagging those same walls so the world would know that "Gah wuz here".

 

Dan stayed late and finished the article a day before his deadline. Clearly, fatherhood was having a positive impact on him. He wondered if he had more, fully grown, illegitimate children out there - just ready to inspire him to write or maybe finally schedule a teeth cleaning. Surely, being a parent inevitably lead to such responsible behaviors. Maybe tonight, he'd tie off the bin bag so it didn't just fall into the rubbish bin as soon as someone threw something away.

 

God help him if he actually had to care for a child, he was wearing yesterday's clothes and there was still a staple in his shirt from Jones' homemade tie, but a fully formed adult was just what the doctor ordered. Dan was so engrossed in his work, he didn't register the IM from Sasha wishing him a good night before she left. It made him smile, nonetheless.


	4. The Party

Lenore grabbed Elizabeth's hand as they walked into the Sugar Ape office. She had been attending major functions all her life, but she never felt comfortable in a crowd. She preferred to remain in her mother's orbit rather than face awkward small talk. Now she had Elizabeth (and her magnificently displayed bosom) to hide behind. 

 

She sent Nathan a text as they approached the door. They were supposedly on some list but Nathan had promised to escort them in, "personally". 

 

"Please don't sleep with Nathan," Lenore pleaded as they waited, "Promise me."

 

"You're not the boss of my vagina," Elizabeth responded with exaggerated anger, "I might want to hook up with Nathan, and if I end up in a three-way with your dad, then that's my prerogative as a single woman."

 

Lenore frowned, and fidgeted at the mention of her father.

 

Elizabeth hugged her friend, "I'm not going to have sex with your father. Or Nathan Barley. I might do Pingu. He's cute as a button."

 

"You can do Pingu," Lenore agreed, awkwardly returning the hug.

 

"Baby Ashcroft!" Nathan bellowed as he approached, "Dan Ashcroft's bouncy baby girl. Look at how you've grown."

 

Lenore squirmed at Nathan's slimy comments, "Is Dan actually telling people he has a daughter? Does he want you broadcasting this information at his place of work?"

 

Nathan went pale, "Is it a secret?"

 

"I don't know," Lenore said, honestly, not bothering to exaggerate to torture the already terrified Nathan, "It just doesn't seem like something he would reveal so easily. It's rather personal. Has he even told his friends, yet?"

 

Nathan fidgeted with his pimp hat as he walked the women towards the entrance, "I'm sure it's fine. Me and Dan are tight."

 

Lenore was not feeling good about this party. The door opened, and she was assaulted by a blast of music and heat. Half naked people with strange haircuts writhed and waved glow sticks. It didn't look like an office party, it looked like a precursor to the fall of the Roman empire. 

 

"Fucking hell," Elizabeth whispered in Lenore's ear, "This party looks amazing!"

 

xxx

 

Sasha said she liked Dan's new article. A lot. She and Dan were currently locked in Jonatton Yeah's office, and he was using the real skills he'd acquired from his summer with Marilyn - the ones he left out of his e-mail to Lenore. Sasha was half sat on Jonatton's desk moaning and tugging his hair as he knelt in front of her. Dan was drunk enough to be loose, but not sloppy, and feeling remarkably competent. He had a beautiful night ahead of him. Sugar Ape was a pimple on the ballsack of journalism but they knew how to throw a fucking party.

 

Dan was feeling euphoric as he basked in the glow of having a full wallet and Sasha's all over loveliness. Perhaps he'd invite her to dinner, somewhere that didn't use plastic silverware. 

 

Then the door opened. Only three people had a key. Maintenance, the very occupied Sasha, and (it was his office, after all) Jonatton Yeah?.

 

"Sasha, love, I need to talk to Danbo so if you could... Yeah, thanks, Darling," Jonatton Yeah? said as Sasha stormed past him, and out of the office, her knickers still in Dan's hand. 

 

He instinctively looked for Nathan Barley. No moment of his life could be this bad, and not include Nathan Barley.

 

"So, Danbo. You and Sasha? Nathan Barley said he saw the two of you sneaking off but I didn't believe him," Jonatton clapped two fingers, "You're on quite the roll. Great article this week, you're shagging a wonderful woman and you've got Rolling Stone calling me about your availability to write an article about the passing of Marilyn Arthur."

 

Dan compulsively scrubbed at his face, the majority of his blood was still pooled below his waist though Jonatton Yeah? was an erection destroying man. He must have been drunker than he thought.

 

"Did you say Rolling Stone?" Dan asked, baffled. Rolling Stone was a real magazine - why would they know Dan existed?

 

"Yes, Danbo, you do seem rather surprised. Were you not shopping your wares? I thought it seemed strange that you suddenly developed an ambitious streak. How long have you been at Sugar Ape? I understand you came on when Mars was still shaggable."

 

Dan gave a guilty start.

 

"Mars is a lovely woman but she's not very discreet now, is she? I want to know what your intentions are towards this magazine? Is Rolling Stone an affair or are you looking for an upgrade?" Jonatton asked with confusing sincerity. 

 

"I have no fucking idea what you're talking about, Jonatton. Why the fuck would Rolling Stone give a shit about me?"

 

Jonatton looked him up and down, "Clearly, a man of great ambition. You can do the article but they'll have to pay Sugar Ape a tidy fee and the byline will state you are Sugar Ape's property. I can't believe Sasha brings men into my office during parties. I have a new respect for her. I might give her a raise."

 

Dan continued to kneel on the floor, and blink as Jonatton yammered on.

 

"Do something with those, Danbo. It's not... chivalrous?" Jonatton suggested with a gesture to Dan's right hand.

 

Dan put the knickers behind his back, and Jonatton left. 

 

He looked at the expensive single malt on Jonatton's sideboard. That was the what Jonatton used to impress people or, on occasion, reward his employees for a job well done. Dan had been invited to three drinks in five years working with Jonatton: when Jonatton had first started, after Rise of the Idiots and when he asked Dan into his office to find out if he'd actually tossed off a builder. Jonatton encouraged Dan to pour himself a double when the answer was yes. Despite the fact Jonatton was a subhuman piece of filth, their relationship had improved over the year. Perhaps Jonatton had developed a respect for Dan's commitment to journalism. Maybe Dan was just too broken to be agitating. For whatever reason, Jonatton no longer seemed to enjoy torturing Dan.

 

He was going to let him write for Rolling Stone.

 

How on earth would Rolling Stone know about him, especially in connection with Marilyn Arthur? A few unsettling answers swirled through Dan's hazy brain. Dan decided to drown those thoughts. With the expensive single malt in arm's reach, Dan instead rooted through Jonatton's desk until he found a bottle of reasonably priced vodka. He drained the bottle, wiped his mouth once more and stood up - still clutching a pair of lace knickers. The vodka washed away his confusion and the solution became clear. He grabbed a manila interoffice envelop, stuffed the knickers inside, wrote "to Sasha" and "from Dan". Why did he always think life was so hard? The solutions were all around, he was just usually too worked up to see them.

 

Dan stumbled back out into the party. Sasha would be gone, but there were other people to tell him he was wonderful on a night like this. When he'd given Claire an extra hundred quid in addition to what he owed her, she'd kissed him on the cheek. All the judgmental women in his life were offering him acceptance tonight.

 

Nothing could ruin his joy at that moment. He spotted Nathan Barley in a corner, chatting up a pretty, dark-skinned girl in a very small top. Oddly enough, Nathan seemed to be hitting it off with the girl.

 

Nathan suddenly turned, apparently feeling Dan's eyes, and screamed, "Hey, Preach!" Dan smiled back. It was more like a baring of the teeth but Nathan wouldn't know the difference.

 

He never did.

 

xxx

 

Lenore wanted a beer but panicked at the bar, not sure what brands they served in the UK, and ordered a Captain and Coke. 

 

"Idiot, idiot, idiot."

 

The voice was oddly familiar. She turned to see a tall, handsome man with a massive afro and white plastic glasses talking to another man wearing a lady's purse as a hat.

 

"Is that a ring tone?" she screamed over the music.

 

The man in the glasses gave her a friendly smile, "It's the Preacher Man! Off trashbat.co.ck. Yeah."

 

"Preacher Man? Dan Ashcroft?"

 

"Yeah, Dan the Preacher Man. Well righteous."

 

Lenore drained her drink and went back to the bar. If this was going to be the kind of conversation she could expect tonight, she was not going to survive sober.

 

The barback asked her what she wanted. 

 

"What would a fucking idiot drink?' she screamed over the music. 

 

The barback poured her a boiler maker, Pabst Blue Ribbon and Jameson whiskey.

 

"It's called a PB&J!" the barback yelled, "Cheap beer, good whiskey, funny name. Dumbest fucking drink in the world."

 

xxx

 

Two PB&Js later, Lenore was dancing. In public. This was what she wanted from a year abroad, a chance to reinvent herself and be a little less conventional. That had been the plan before her mother died, leaving Lenore not quite an orphan.

 

A man with paint and bits of glass and a few bottle caps in his hair started grinding against her hip. Lenore moved closer to the DJ in her attempt to escape.

 

She was staring at the DJ set up (which included several children's toys and a Theremin) when she realized the DJ was trying to draw her attention. 

 

"Lenore? Are you called Lenore?"

 

Lenore screamed back that she was often called Lenore because that was her name. The DJ's eyes were piercing her soul with their blueness and making it hard to pay attention to what he was saying.

 

"What?"

 

The DJ pointed to himself and yelled, "Jones!"

 

Lenore felt the conversation was going surprisingly well, but Jones looked irritated and gestured for her to climb behind the tables with him. Lenore carefully ascended the platform, terrified of knocking something over in her drunkenness and creating a scene.

 

"I'm Jones, Dan's flat mate! I live with Dan and Claire Ashcroft!" Jones yelled, "You look just like him! Except pretty and a girl!"

 

Lenore raised her PB&J in salute to the tacked on "pretty and a girl". She was no stranger to being defined by her parentage.

 

"What do you like?" Jones asked.

 

Lenore contemplated the question. She didn't like parties, cheap beer, whiskey, house music, people touching her or wearing high heels. 

 

"I don't know!"

 

"You must like something!" Jones yelled back, "What makes you wanna dance?"

 

What kind of music did she like? She imagined the room coming to a halt as Jones played some Joni Mitchell.

 

"I don't know! I don't know what's cool!"

 

"Don't have to be cool, what do you like?"

 

"The Talking Heads?"

 

The transition into "Burning Down the House" was seamless and Lenore was properly astonished. It might have been the booze, but she was convinced Jones was a genius, a technical wizard. 

 

"Yeah!" yelled the man with the giant afro, moving towards the tables. Whatever else he had to say was swallowed up by the music, but Jones screamed the man's name was Ned and he went to the Rhode Island School of Design. Lenore looked at the man who had "idiot" as a ring tone, and decided it was probably an ironic gesture on his part and that he was really a sensitive soul. That or he was a fucking idiot who happened to get into a really good art school. Either way, he was good looking and Lenore decided he deserved a chance. Lenore climbed off the stage and moved towards Ned and his friend with the purse-hat who turned out to be named Rufus. Ned and Rufus both laughed when she screamed, "The roof, the roof, The Rufus on fire!" Lenore regretted all the times she hadn't gotten wasted at a parties and flirted with beautiful idiots. So many missed opportunities.

 

xxx

 

Nathan felt wary as he pulled out his cell phone, but Dan was smiling and encouraging him. Dan could be a bit of a loose wire but he was always good for a sound bite.

 

Elizabeth was giggling nervously. She was a fan of the show and website and probably eager to see Dan Ashcroft in action. He was like one of those dancing Russian bears - utterly mad, and likely to bite your face off.

 

After quickly instructing her in the use of the Wasp T12, Nathan entrusted the lovely Elizabeth to shoot the footage. 

 

Dan threw a friendly arm around Nathan and said, "This is Dan Ashcroft, King of the Idiots, and Nathan Barley loves to suck my trashbat.co.ck". 

 

Dan's tongue was half-way down his throat before Nathan realized what was happening and just as his brain slowly registered, "I'm getting snogged on camera by The Preacher Man", he suddenly wasn't. Dan gave the camera phone a two fingered salute and a smile before yelling, "Fuck, yeah," and disappearing into the crowd.

 

Nathan grabbed his Wasp T12 and watched the footage. Dan was giving the camera his madman smile, a few stray curls sticking to his face and announcing himself as the King of the Idiots. Fucking brilliant.

 

"This is going up tonight!" Nathan promised the giggling Elizabeth, "This is well cautionary." 

 

He saved a screenshot of Dan smiling and sent it to Claire with the message, "Wish you were here, Monkey Muff."

 

xxx

 

As Jones had promised, the first few chords of Dramarama's "Anything, Anything" brought Dan out of the maddening crowd, and to the turntables. He came bouncing through the hoard, hair flying and beer splashing. He looked the way Lenore thought a person should look at a party. He was out of his mind and in the moment. He also looked like a huge liability, someone very likely to cause a fire or some other disaster. She eyed the nearest exits. If Dan Ashcroft jumped through a window, she was flying back to America. She didn't need that kind of drama in her life.

 

Give you anything you want, hundred dollar bills

I'll even let you watch to shows you wanna see...

 

Dan threw his arms open when Lenore sang, "Just marry me, marry me, marry me." It was the only part of the song she knew but it felt like a meeting of the minds. A celestial connection. An Oprah moment. 

 

When the song ended, Dan gestured her to follow him outside. She leaned against the building as Dan lit up. Lenore nearly as him for a smoke. She couldn't possibly say fag. She'd tried saying it to herself in the mirror and she couldn't handle it so she knew she couldn't say it to a real person. When Dan did offer her a smoke, she demurred because her last attempt at smoking had ended with her coughing until she threw up. Tonight, she was trying to be a little bit cool.

 

"You and Smanks?" Dan asked.

 

Lenore racked her brain, smanks did not register as a word. It sounded like a kind of panty hose.

 

"Ned Smanks?" Dan elaborated.

 

"Oh! Ned. Yes. That guy's name is Ned."

 

"I know his name... Are you planning on sleeping with him?"

 

Lenore felt guilty, because had considered it. She also felt childish for feeling guilty.

 

"It's a bit early... We just met. I don't know him."

 

Dan looked at her blankly.

 

"No, I'm not going to sleep with him."

 

Dan nodded, "Good idea. He's an idiot. If you do sleep with him, don't let him spend the night. Don't let him show you his poetry, or basket weaving, or any other shit he thinks will prove he's not an idiot. He's an idiot."

 

Lenore nodded too quickly and felt slightly ill.

 

"Miss Arthur!" a strange man called as he dramatically walked towards them. He'd thrown the door to Sugar Ape wide open as he exited the building. Lenore pondered the energy wasted. Of everyone at the party, Lenore had a feeling she and Dan were the least likely to appreciate his drama. 

 

The man took Lenore by the hands, and looked her up and down, "Dan, did you know this lovely creature was the one and only child of Marilyn Arthur? Of course you do, that's why Rolling Stone wants you to write an article."

 

Dan moved his jaw back and forth as he apparently tried to decide how much information to hand out.

 

"You have me at a disadvantage," Lenore pointed out.

 

"Jonatton Yeah? Editor?" the man made a vague gesture as though to say, "I wished this building into existence."

 

Dan rolled his eyes.

 

"Where you named for Lenore in 'Killing Time'?" asked Jonatton, "She was a brilliant character."

 

"Mother said we were both named after the Edgar Allen Poe poem," Lenore explained for the millionth time, "but I have my doubts."

 

Jonatton laughed, the line usually got a laugh. She didn't know why, it wasn't funny. It was actually pretty sad. Maybe that's why people laughed.

 

"I adored your mother, she was a genius? Do you write?" Jonatton asked. Lenore was struggling to identify the actual questions in Jonatton's conversation. Nearly everything he said, including his name, sounded like a question.

 

Lenore shook her head, "No. Clinical psychology. I don't write anything but scholarly, boring articles. Not a creative bone in my body."

 

Jonatton raised his eyebrows suggestively at Dan who reacted with horror, "She's my daughter!"

 

Lenore blushed and stared at her shoes. Parties were just awkward moments strung together with music and liquor.

 

"You must write!" Jonatton cried, "You are Mary Shelley. You must write your masterpiece."

 

Lenore threw her hands up protectively, "Nope. No Frankenstein, no masterpiece. I'm not even good with words. No need to sully Mom's rep with me trying to capitalize on her name." 

 

Jonatton moved towards Dan, who scooted away, "Dan. Pet. How could you never tell me? I simply adore Marilyn Arthur."

 

Dan replied, "You read?"

 

Lenore wanted to be gone. She wondered if she could just leave.

 

"Why were you playing dumb, earlier, Danbo. Don't want people finding out you slept your way to the middle? Bit late for that. Is there more to this story?"

 

Dan cast a glance at Lenore that made her nervous. 

 

"I don't know why they contacted you," Dan explained, "Lenore. Did you suggest my name to someone?"

 

Lenore stared at her feet, "I just thought... I mean, the e-mail was so good and beautiful. Really, it was amazing and Rolling Stone had been contacting me about writing something, when I forwarded the e-mail to Tim in..."

 

"You sent them my e-mail?" Dan asked. Lenore wondered if he could feel himself rocking back and forth, or if he thought he was standing still.

 

"Just the one guy..."

 

"Lenny!" Elizabeth's voice cut through the air like a siren.

 

Lenore turned to her flat mate, grateful for the distraction. The fact Elizabeth had Nathan Barley in tail didn't dampen her enthusiasm.

 

"Hi, Elizabeth!" she yelled.

 

"You sent them the personal e-mail that I wrote to you?" Dan asked. He looked genuinely confused.

 

"I thought it would show them that you could really write something special..."

 

"That wasn't meant for other people. That wasn't... I wrote that to you. For you."

 

Jonatton was grinning, "Don't worry, Pet. Dan has very deep feelings. He's better than the rest of us because he feels So. Damn. Much."

 

"I told the guy it was a personal e-mail, he knows it wasn't meant for public consumption..."

 

"Why would you send it to Rolling Stone?" Dan asked, he was starting to look upset. 

 

"They contacted me on the same day... It's not like I just send my e-mails to magazines! You're a writer, they wanted someone to write..."

 

"That was personal."

 

Elizabeth wrapped her arm around Lenore, Lenore gripped her around the hip. Dread was spreading through her chest, making it hard to breathe.

 

"What's going on?" Elizabeth asked.

 

"Dan is upset that he's being tricked into success?" Jonatton explained, "His posthumous sales will be better if he was never understood in life."

 

"I'm sorry, Dan," Lenore apologized, "I didn't mean to upset you or... I don't think you should be upset. It was a lovely piece of writing, it's a great opportunity..."

 

Dan was shaking his head, "That's not what this is about."

 

"What is this about?" Lenore asked, "I don't see why you're so upset. You're a writer. Someone saw your writing."

 

"That was for you because... It was for you," Dan was getting more agitated with every exchange, "It wasn't about profiting from the death of a woman I admired..."

 

"Someone you fucked when you were a teen," Lenore corrected, "My mom. I actually fucking knew her so don't start telling me I don't care about her!"

 

Lenore was being pulled towards the door by Elizabeth, but Dan was following. He looked confused by her rage.

 

Lenore was confused by her rage, as well, but it felt good to let it out.

 

"I'm sorry I don't 'get it', Dan, " Lenore snarled, "I was raised by a writer who actually wanted to be successful. Someone who tried hard to hone her craft instead of racking up fucking cool points by being the biggest drunk in Shorttage!"

 

"Shoreditch," Elizabeth corrected between pleas to "stop talking". Elizabeth pulled the door closed behind them and stood there, holding it.

 

"What's got into the Preach?" Ned asked in his lazy cadence as he wandered towards the two women.

 

Lenore burst into tears, and then threw up in a garbage can.

 

xxx

 

Ned stroked Lenore's hair as she vomited a second time the moment they walked out the front door. Nathan was keeping Dan on the other side of the building, but Ned still wanted to get out of the general vicinity. When Dan went off the rails, he was well scary. 

 

It was funny to think Lenore and Dan were related. Dan was so growly and stropey and Lenore was so quiet and dainty as she emptied her stomach into a rubbish bin. 

 

"We should probably keep moving," Ned suggested when Lenore stopped retching.

 

"I know, I just need a minute."

 

"It's just that, well..."

 

"Well, what?"

 

"This is where The Preach usually ends up puking..."

 

Lenore being walking purposefully in the wrong direction. Ned grabbed her arm and steered her right.

 

"Funny about the same rubbish bin," Ned observed, "Must be genetic."

 

xxx

 

Dan stumbled back into the party. He was feeling feelings. The vodka had been defective. He felt hurt, embarrassed, betrayed, angry, sad... He was feeling more emotions at one time than he'd felt in the past year. He crushed sadness with a shot of whiskey. It took two more to kill embarrassment. Anger and betrayal clung on, fueled by liquor instead of smothered. He threw Nathan into a wall and called Jonatton a cunt. 

 

Claire appeared, and began screaming in his face. She was back to the old Claire, always angry and disappointed. He was trying to explain to her that the e-mail had been real. Lenore may as well have sent a naked picture of Dan to Rolling Stone. He couldn't be more exposed. 

 

"Lenore was trying to help you! She helped me, too. She found a grant for my movie..."

 

Dan tried to point out how different that was from his situation, but Claire wasn't hearing him. 

 

In fact, Claire had tears in her eyes.

 

"What are you trying to say, Dan?"

 

Dan honestly didn't remember. He had no clue why Claire was suddenly so upset.

 

"Just say it, Dan. It's different because you have talent. Isn't that what you really mean?"

 

Dan denied the idea vehemently. That was not something he would ever say. He would never say Claire wasn't talented. That was something he would never, ever, ever say out loud.

 

xxx

 

Dan stumbled outside, dazed. There was blood on his face from Claire's nails, from when she'd pulled his hair. Dan tried to find a piece of wall where there weren't too many people milling, and he could have a slash in relative piece. No sooner was he emptying his filled-to-capacity bladder than a light nearly blinded him.

 

"What the fuck?" he yelled as he tried to stop urinating. He seemed to have passed the point of no return. 

 

All was forgiven when he was given a check for 10,000 pounds in exchange for his signature. Not even in Rolling Stone yet and people were already paying for his autograph. 

 

Dan looked for somewhere to lie down where he wouldn't end up covered in his own piss. Life was getting hard again.

 

xxx

 

Nathan dragged Dan to a taxi. The Northerner was a dead weight and mumbling. Ned was with Lenore, and Nathan was with Dan. Elizabeth was presumably still with Claire, having pulled the woman off of Dan minutes earlier.

 

Nathan didn't know (or want to know) why it had turned him on to watch Claire screaming at and beating on a passive Dan. Well incestual sexual tension.

 

Insextual Tension.

 

Nathan could already see the piece. They'd have to bring up Angelina Jolie tonguing her brother. It was ancient history, but Jolie was still hot as shit and she was really into her brother. Mental. Well insextual.

 

Nathan was far more comfortable remembering how Claire and Elizabeth had put their flimsy tops to the test as they tussled. Eventually, Claire had collapsed into Elizabeth's arms, weeping. They were probably snogging by now, getting ready to get down to some serious rug munching.

 

Dan nuzzled his face into Nathan's armpit. Nathan squirmed, but Dan was like a pig after a truffle. The cabbie was looking at them.

 

"Dan, wake up! You are lethal when you're drunk. Fucking Hiroshima."

 

"No! Not you!" Dan yelled before passing out in Nathan's lap.

 

Nathan returned to the footage in his head. He could have the Williams sisters looking all muscley and half-naked. Them American football twins. The Gyllenhaals in all their weird, ugly/gorgeousness. Oasis and the Kings of Leon. He could include a shot of Dan and Claire. It would be easy enough to get footage of them with their heads together at a cafe. They were always talking to each other even though they shared a flat. They always had things to say to one another. Nathan decided that's how you could tell people were deep, they always have new things to say.

 

It would be a pointless in-joke, and it would make Dan and Claire furious.

 

It would be what split the crowd in two, those who got the joke and those who didn't.

 

He'd use a shot of Claire and Dan. They'd get over it eventually.

 

xxx

 

Toby helped Nathan drag Dan into the flat. Dan kept asking the same questions over and over - forgetting the answers as soon as he heard them.

 

"Where am I?" Dan asked for the third time.

 

"You're at my flat, you can't go home, I'm Nathan, you're Dan, Lenore is with Smanks, Claire is probably at your flat. Claire wants to kill you," Nathan growled, looking at Toby over Dan's head to roll his eyes.

 

Dan nodded, "Where am I?"

 

"Fuckin' hell," Nathan moaned, "Roll us a huge fuckin' bone, Toby. It's gonna be a long fuckin' night with the Preacher Man."

 

"I'm not the Preacher Man," Dan snapped, "Where the fuck am I? Why am I not home? Where's Claire?"

 

"Claire's at your flat with a sexy piece of dark chocolate, and that's why you're here. You're well in the shit, Danbo."

 

Nathan clawed at the large hand that was suddenly wrapped around his neck, "Don't call me Danbo, and don't talk about my sister. Ever."

 

They just managed to get Dan on the sofa. Dan seemed 12 feet tall as they tried to maneuver his long frame. Toby made a quick escape but Nathan found himself being pulled down. So far that evening, Nathan had been tongue-kissed and physically picked up and tossed against a wall by Dan. Dan had been smiling both times. He was smiling now.

 

"Come on, Nathan, we're mates," Dan whispered in Nathan's ear, "Tell me what happened? Why is Claire angry with me."

 

Nathan hadn't followed the argument, but he had a feeling Claire had taken Dan's words too personally. He was pretty sure Dan was just talking about himself. Dan never really noticed other people - he was his own muse.

 

"You said she couldn't understand how you felt because she didn't..." Nathan tried to remember the wording, "She didn't put her soul into anything She just goes through the motions n'all."

 

Dan's eyes widened, Nathan had never noticed before but Dan had rather small eyes.

 

"Was she angry?" Dan asked in a small voice.

 

"No. No, she knows you're just pissed," Nathan lied, reflexively, "You can sort it out in the morning."

 

Dan nodded slowly, still looking troubled. 

 

"I'll got fetch you a duvet," Nathan explained, pushing Dan back into the sofa so he wouldn't fall off.

 

Nathan took a few tokes with Toby and felt far more ready to deal with one wasted Dan Ashcroft.

 

He pulled off Dan's shoes and dragged his long legs up onto the sofa before throwing the duvet over him. Dan sniffed at the air.

 

"Are you smoking?" Dan asked, "Do you have more? I'm feeling a bit queasy."

 

Nathan giggled at the very idea, "You are pissed off your tits. You can't get high. Preacher Man, you are out of control! You're like one of those fuckin' people from the seventies that died..."

 

"Just a puff or two, to clear my head," Dan murmured.

 

Nathan fully expected Dan to be passed out before he pulled the fatty out of Toby's greedy hands but, instead, he found Dan peering (relatively wide-eyed) over the blanket he'd pulled up to his chin. He looked very fragile and lost. It briefly occurred to Nathan to snap a pic of 'the other side' of Dan Ashcroft but he quickly pushed the impulse aside. No one wanted to see a fragile Dan. If a bull like Dan could break, what would happen to the rest of them? What chance did the mere mortal have if their king couldn't handle a little alcohol poisoning, a secret daughter and one little beating from a sexy sister?

 

Nathan shuddered at the drug-induced philosophizing. 

 

"Nathan?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

Dan stared at him blankly.

 

"Whaddaya want, Preach?"

 

"I don't want anything," Dan answered, furrowing his brow.

 

"Then why did you... you are so fucking wasted, it's like watching a snuff film. Well suicidal."

 

Nathan flushed under the sudden intensity of Dan's stare.

 

"I hate you so much. Why am I here?" Dan's voice was low and questioning, devoid of malice.

 

"You got into a fight with Claire, she's well volatile..."

 

"Don't. Say. Her. Name." Dan's eyes were wide, and more than a little crazy looking. Nathan handed him the oversized joint, and Dan took another pull, "She's always angry with me."

 

Nathan laughed in agreement, Claire was the grouchiest person he knew. She made Dan look like a ball of sunshine. She was always furious over something, and she was beautiful when she was angry, "She's always picking at me, as well. She's well harsh."

 

Dan sighed and looked forlorn.

 

"Cheer up, Dan, s'all good with my wood. Claire's probably just raggin' it..."

 

Dan was probably trying to strangle Nathan again, but he was tied up in his duvet. He did manage to hit Nathan in the knee and bring him to the floor, howling in pain.

 

Nathan rubbed his knee and looked at Dan who was smiling, widely. Wolfishly. For the second time that night, Nathan was surprised to find Dan's tongue was in his mouth and he was just as disconcerted the second time around.

 

Dan was more gentle this time, his tongue less suffocating. Dan was even running his fingers over the back of Nathan's neck. Dan tasted like tar and hard liquor. Nathan cautiously rested his hand on Dan's stomach and met no resistance so he moved into the kiss. 

 

Even through all the layers of smoke, Nathan could smell a hint of what must have been Sasha. Good old Dan, if he was going to be bisexual, he'd be well bisexual. The Preacher Man lived to his limits. Dan put his hand over Nathan's and moved it down to his crotch. Nathan hadn't pulled off another guy since drama camp. He reluctantly stroked Dan through the blanket, still not sure this wasn't a put on or a prank.

 

When he found his hand inside Dan's pants and wrapped around the man's cock, he felt more confident that he wasn't about to be the butt of a joke but not quite confident enough to get hard. Nathan didn't usually get off with guys but, before he ever met him, he knew Dan Ashcroft would be on the short list for whom Nathan would make an exception. He was lower on the list than Russell Brand but higher than Daniel Craig. Nathan had felt a powerful connection to Dan from the first time he read one of his scathing articles. He liked to think he would have continued to feel the same way if there hadn't been a picture attached to the article. A sneering beat poet for the new millennium and he was fit. Dan Ashcroft was on the list.

 

"Suck me off," Dan mumbled, "S'been a while."

 

Nathan wondered if Jonatton Yeah? had interrupted Dan and Sasha before Dan got off. The word on the street was that, grumpy bear that he might be, Dan was a gentleman in the bedroom: the lady always came first. Nathan wasn't totally opposed to going down on another man, but Dan's cock seemed unnecessarily long, thick and angry looking. Putting that thing is his mouth was going to be well gay.

 

Dan smiled sweetly and ran a thumb over Nathan's cheek.

 

"You're like herpes," Dan murmured, "Not always visible but always there. Always infectious and incurable."

 

Nathan laughed, because he didn't know what else to do.

 

And because he was high.

 

Dan moaned quietly as Nathan took him in his mouth and continued his gentle strokes along Nathan's face. Only when he was close to coming did Dan get demanding. He went from soft moans and gentle touches to Nathan's face to a firm hand on the back of his neck as he pushed himself into Nathan's throat. He apologized when Nathan gagged, but didn't actually let up until he came. Nathan spit the semen into his hand while Dan chuckled. 

 

When Nathan returned from a thorough gargle, Dan was still awake - staring blankly into the air. Nathan didn't bother seeking reciprocation. No way was he letting Dan Ashcroft near his junk. He didn't want to have to have his tackle surgically reattached because Dan had a mood swing.

 

"So..." Nathan began, suddenly at a loss for words.

 

"Don't touch me," Dan ordered in a panicky voice, "Don't do anything to me or over me or... on me while I'm sleeping."

 

Nathan watched the Northerner wrap himself tightly in his blanket, only his anxious little eyes peering out, "I'm serious, you little tit, do not touch me or I will rip your arms off and no jury will convict me."

 

Nathan gave a strangled laugh, "Fair deal, Preacher Man, I won't molest you in your sleep. Fucking psycho."

 

Dan looked appeased and promptly began snoring. Nathan did touch Dan briefly as he slept but only to turn the man's head to the side in case he puked in his sleep. Nathan needed a few more puffs and some Ativan to fall asleep that night. He couldn't stop thinking about Dan's fingers gently touching his cheek and the back of his neck. Well poofy.


	5. Saturday Afternoon

"Fucking self-righteous, self-absorbed fucking... fucking..."

 

"Asshole?" Elizabeth offered.

 

"Asshole!" Claire yelled, "Asshole, liar, unreliable... git!"

 

People were looking so Elizabeth gave her most placating smile and mouthed, "Men!" to anyone staring. So far, no one had called the police. She was afraid to take Claire back to her flat/squat until she was sure that Nathan had found another place to store Dan. Jones was booked to DJ until 4am and he was apparently the only one brave enough to referee the rare, but volatile Ashcroft family feud. Until she had confirmation from someone, she was keeping Claire in a late night take away. Other than the ranting and flailing, she was enjoying Claire's company. Elizabeth liked tough girls, girls who could get into and win a bar fight. She was fond of Lenore but no way could Lenore throw a good crotch punch. Claire had nearly ripped Dan's face off before Elizabeth pulled her away. Maybe if things got smoothed out with Dan... then Claire, Lenore and Elizabeth could form a little Sex and the City type posse.

 

If Dan pissed Claire off again, he was on his own. That girl was tough as shit.

 

"Claire..." Elizabeth began gently, "Do you think you're film is good?"

 

Claire slumped in her chair, her face nearly in her untouched piece of apple pie, "I can't tell any more. I can't get an honest opinion from someone who I can trust. Dan's never seen it..."

 

"So how can he know whether or not it's good?" Elizabeth asked in her creamiest voice. She wanted to help Claire process her feelings, but she didn't want to get clawed. She was treading carefully.

 

Claire's eyes were suspiciously wet but her voice was nonchalant, "He doesn't need to see it, he just knows it isn't good."

 

Elizabeth thought of a dozen logical responses but she knew they'd fall on deaf ears.

 

"I want to see your movie."

 

xxx

 

There were a lot of reasons Ned didn't try to get off with Lenore. If he were the kind of person who made lists, his list would have looked something like this.

 

1\. Ned had lost his mother five years ago and there was still a gaping hole inside of him that no amount of cool friends, cool clothes or his cool job could fill. No amount of approval from strangers could give him the same validation he felt when his mother called him a "good lad". He related to Lenore's pain and her anger.

 

2\. He respected and admired Dan Ashcroft. Dan was talented and passionate if a bit unpredictable in social interactions. When Ned first started, Dan had complimented Ned's work, and Ned hoped to one day again earn Dan's respect. He just wasn't sure how to go about it.

 

3\. He was scared of Dan Ashcroft. Dan was well scary.

 

4\. He was scared of Claire Ashcroft. When she was angry, she scared Dan.

 

5\. Lenore had some vomit on her jumper.

 

Lenore came out of the bathroom, her top damp but apparently vomit-free.

 

"I'm so sorry, Ned," she said in a small voice, "I don't normally drink. I don't normally get into fights... I just haven't been myself lately. And I'm sorry for all the vomiting and general grossness."

 

Ned nodded, "Well disgusting. You should have a puff, settle your stomach?"

 

Ned held out a joint and Lenore took a hesitant puff. As soon as she started coughing, Ned shoved a wastepaper basket under her face. 

 

xxx

 

Elizabeth drove Claire to her office to pick up the most recent cut of her film, then she retrieved Lenore from Ned Smanks. She'd been a bit worried about her flat mate doing something she might regret but, based on her waxy complexion and wet sweater, Elizabeth had a feeling Lenore was only regretting her dinner choice. Curry is never good on the way back up.

 

"Sorry about going insane," were the first words out of her mouth as she crawled into the back of Elizabeth's car, "Sorry, Elizabeth. Sorry, Claire."

 

"You don't owe me an apology, Dan is an asshole," Claire brusquely replied, "Not your fault you tried to be nice to an asshole."

 

"He's not an asshole," Lenore argued, "Well, maybe he is. I don't know him. Whatever, my point is, he's not being an asshole about this, I am. I wouldn't have shared something my mother wrote without her permission. Just because Dan isn't on Oprah doesn't mean he shouldn't be just as protective of his writing. It's his product."

 

Lenore was always trying to take someone else's perspective, Elizabeth found it an equally endearing and annoying quality.

 

"Dan is just a dick," Claire assured Lenore, "He's not worried about his precious writing when he's pissing his name on the side of a wall. He's wasting a real gift."

 

Elizabeth laughed and found her self on the receiving end of two rather cool stares.

 

"No! He's talented, he is. It's just... Dan was posing for a photo for 15Peter20, actually pissing on a wall when we left and... it just seems like everything he does is fine because, why? He's a good writer? Because he's sexy in that... never mind. Why does he always get a free pass for his behavior?"

 

"Did you say Dan was posing for 15Peter20?" Claire asked with alarm.

 

"Yeah, he was getting random people for some new installation piece. He asked me to pose but, you know, it's not like I brought extra clothes and I wasn't going to... never mind. He asked Nathan but I think he was afraid to whip it out for the camera or maybe he's bladder shy. But Dan... I think he got a lot of money for it," Elizabeth added. She had only been walking past to get her purse back from Rufus (lest he turn it into another hat) but she thought she heard 10,000 pounds. She decided to keep that bit of info to herself, Dan seemed like the kind of guy who racked up debts.

 

Claire laughed, then swore, then laughed again.

 

"This is horrible," Claire said, "Dan is going to be mortified. He hates 15Peter20."

 

"I read his article, I thought he was a fan." Elizabeth had read several of Dan's articles after learning he was Lenore's father. 

 

Lenore's head popped up between the seats, "He didn't write that article, did he? There was something off in the style. It felt forced."

 

"His editor wrote it because Dan couldn't do it on his own," Claire explained, "He could toss off a sexually confused builder who still fucking stalks us but he couldn't think of a nice thing to say about 15Peter20."

 

"Did he really toss a builder?" Elizabeth asked, reveling in the feeling of getting the inside scoop. She had never actually read anything in Sugar Ape before meeting Lenore, but she remembered the story being huge at University: The writer literally turned rent boy.

 

Claire was actually smiling when they arrived at Lenore and Elizabeth's flat. Re-calling some of her brother's biggest humiliations seemed to improve her mood significantly.

 

Lenore and Elizabeth lived on the second floor of a lovely old woman's house in a nice-ish part of town. Elizabeth suddenly felt self-conscious about bringing someone from the Trash Bat world to her home filled with lace doilies. Claire lived in a squat with a celebrity DJ; Elizabeth and Lenore were not allowed to have male visitors after 10pm. They weren't in Shoreditch any more.

 

xxx

 

Lenore changed into vomit-free clothes and made some popcorn. She knew it wasn't a popcorn kind of movie but she'd had a rough night. She needed comfort food.

 

Claire was clearly trying not to act nervous as she cued up her film, "It's still a rough cut. It isn't done. I'm trying to get some funding through Lenore's friend to finish it..."

 

"It's going to be great," Lenore said. When she realized the other two women were staring at her, she felt compelled to explain herself.

 

"Everyone around me is really talented. Elizabeth is a brilliant playwright," Lenore explained, ignoring Elizabeth's protest, "She's brilliant, my mother was brilliant. Dan is brilliant. That guy holding my hair while I threw up, me showed he some of his drawings and he's brilliant. Why wouldn't you be brilliant as well?"

 

Claire did not look reassured as she pressed play.

 

Lenore was not at all surprised to find herself enjoying the film. Everyone around her seemed to have been given an extra helping of talent. What did Lenore have? Money.

 

Money and connections. Money and connections were nice, and Lenore tried to be grateful for her good luck. She currently owned a publishing company named after her.

 

Or maybe it was named after the character in "Killing Time". 

 

xxx

 

"Be honest," Claire demanded as soon as the film ended, "Don't try to spare my feelings or be gentle. Just tell me the truth. Please."

 

Claire's dark eyes were still focused on the screen.

 

Elizabeth was honest, she told Claire it was a good film - well shot and absorbing.

 

However.

 

Claire listened attentively as Elizabeth and Lenore discussed the need for a stronger narrative arc and a more complex emotional palette. It was Lenore that came up with a framing device. For a non-writer, she had a good head for story telling. Probably a result of being raised by a great author. Elizabeth imagined her bedtime stories must have been amazing, featuring princesses with complex needs and emotions who realized the prince couldn't save anyone until he learned to take care of himself. Elizabeth waited for Claire to explode at Lenore's suggestion - she had a scary side - but Claire simply sighed and sank into the couch.

 

"Fuck me," Claire sighed "I knew it would come to this."

 

xxx

 

Dan slowly awoke to the sound of his cell phone beeping. He had 38 unread texts.

 

His bladder was about to bust, he was surprised he hadn't pissed the bed. The couch.

 

He looked around the room. It was unfamiliar. It was the room of an idiot.

 

Dan sprang off the couch and nearly fell over as he staggered to the bathroom. 

 

Memories flooded his brain.

 

Dan prayed for alcohol induced amnesia.

 

Nathan. Dan had let Nathan, no ASKED Nathan to... It was unthinkable. It was... Nathan Fucking Barley.

 

As he pulled himself out of his boxers, it was clear he hadn't been the last person to handle his cock. He was on the wrong side. He'd never been too drunk to forget he dressed to the right. That would be like forgetting how to drink.

 

"No. God, no. Not him. Don't let it be true," Dan whispered, again and again.

 

It couldn't be true.

 

Washing his face only made it seem more and more likely that he was not dreaming.

 

He might have to cut his dick off, like an NC-17 version of "The Evil Dead". The idiocy must be contagious, why the fuck else would Dan want to touch Nathan Barley?

 

He checked his phone. The messages were near evenly distributed between Jones and Claire, and mostly along the lines of, "Where are you?" or "Are you safe?" 

 

Tears stung Dan's eyes for a moment. One of the messages from Claire said, "Where the fuck did you go, dickhead?" The last one from Claire said, "Text me when you wake up so I can stop worrying."

 

Worse than the memory of Nathan's puppy dog eyes worshipping him as he...

 

Christ, that was an upsetting memory, but not as bad as the feeling he might have said something unforgivable to Claire. Claire had her chance everyday to crush Dan's fragile ego. If they turned on each other, they'd both be devoured in a week. Not even Jones could protect Dan if Claire went for the jugular.

 

"I'm at Nathan's. Leaving now," he typed quickly, not wanting to spend an extra minute in Nathan's lair. He added, "love you, sis," before hitting send. It would piss her off at first but, eventually, the message would soften Claire's heart, and possibly save Dan from a second beating when he got home. 

 

xxx

 

Jones was not an easy man to wake, so Dan must have been shaking him for a long time.

 

"Jones. Jonesie. Dan. Danny. Danathan. Daniel Jones..."

 

"Did you just call me Dananthan?" Jones asked as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

 

"I was getting desperate. It's like waking the dead."

 

Jones peered at the clock. It wasn't even two in the afternoon.

 

"What are you doing up so early? What's wrong? Dan? What did you do?"

 

Dan flinched and Jones wrapped a friendly arm around him, "Rough night?"

 

Dan looked Jones straight in the eye, "I did... terrible things last night. Terrible, unspeakable things. I don't know what to do, if I drink any more, I think I'll die from blood alcohol poisoning. I need some kind of drug that... makes you forget things..."

 

Dan was reaching for Jones' stash and had to be pulled away.

 

"All I have are shrooms and they'll make your memories anthropomorphize and chase you. You're out of luck. Want me to play a set for you? Let you get some sleep?"

 

Dan covered his face, "I'll never sleep again."

 

Jones ran his fingers through Dan's hair out of habit. Seven years ago, at an especially rowdy party, Dan had woken up from a liquor induced coma to find a stranger wanking over his head. The man had the decency to stop once Dan woke up but the incident had made Dan completely paranoid. This did not stop Dan from getting black out drunk, it just made him burrow like a gopher when he was ready to pass out. The world would have never known the glory of the Geek Pie if it hadn't been for Dan hiding himself from potential perverts.

 

Dan could often be found under a sofa or table, sometimes under a bed, after an especially good party. After an especially bad party, Dan could be found anywhere. He'd nearly drowned in water feature outside Smank's flat. He crawled into unlocked cars (occupied or unoccupied), other peoples' beds (occupied or unoccupied) and passed out in people's bathrooms (usually unoccupied).

 

So Jones had grown used to feeling Dan's hair to check for stray semen. Somehow, that had become a part of their friendship.

 

"I already took a shower," Dan mumbled, "I scraped off a layer of skin and gargled bleach."

 

Jones was 98% sure Dan was kidding about the last part.

 

"What happened last night? I know you fought with Lenore and with Claire, and had a tender moment with Nathan Barley."

 

Dan let out something that was very nearly a gasp at Nathan's name, "How do you know?"

 

"I saw you snogging him at the party, plus it's the featured video on trashbat.co.ck, you man-slag. Twelve people sent me the link as soon as it went up. What were you thinking?" Jones asked out of sincere curiosity. Dan had such a strange relationship with his hangers-on. His loathing was sincere, but inconsistent. Someone like Nathan needed a firm hand to keep him at bay.

 

Dan looked a bit fragile so Jones rocked them both back and forth on the sofa until Dan began to relax and lean into him. It's what they did when Claire announced she was moving in, the first time Dan "accidentally" had sex with Mars, the day Dan's Nan died (the nice one, not the one who called Claire a hussy for living with two men), the day Jonatton Yeah? took over Sugar Ape and at least a dozen other traumatic events. Dan was easy to comfort; loud music and gentle rocking. Jones had a theory Dan would sleep just as well if he put a clock under his pillow, the way one would with a new puppy. Jones never tested his theory, though. He enjoyed soothing Dan. He liked holding Dan and he liked watching him sleep. It wasn't a creepy thing, at least Jones hoped it wasn't creepy. He just really liked Dan Ashcroft.

 

"It was going too well, I was getting on with Sasha..." Dan began.

 

"As in, getting off with Sasha?" Jones asked, half-joking/half-fully expecting Dan's answer of yes.

 

"And Jonatton said Rolling Stone wants me to do an article..."

 

"That is amazin', Dan!"

 

"Because Lenore sent them an e-mail..."

 

"This kid is genius. You're a lucky man."

 

"She sent them the e-mail I wrote to her about Marilyn..."

 

"Oh, Dan."

 

"I know it shouldn't bother me, it's just an e-mail..."

 

"I know, Dan. She didn't mean any harm..."

 

"She called me a drunk. It was like she was Claire and I was my dad..."

 

Jones rocked a little faster, hoping to keep Dan talking. The Ashcrofts were a lovely family, and actually had a white picket fence in front of their house. They asked Jones to come for a visit before Claire moved into his squat. Rather than grill him about his vice-ridden ways, John Ashcroft had grilled him, and Dan, about fire safety and proper wiring while Jane Ashcroft piped in to remind them about silent killers like mold and carbon monoxide. They had both seemed downright happy to learn Jones was more a threat to Dan's virtue than Claire's. They just seemed like a genuinely happy, normal family. 

 

Except that Dan called his father sir. That was strange. Jones didn't think the word sir was in Dan's vocabulary, but that was no reason to think that the Ashcroft house was anything short of perfect.

 

Except for the fact that the siblings never went home for Christmas. Not once.

 

"And then the real Claire was yelling at me and hitting me..."

 

Dan was tensing up again, returning to his twitchy self. Jones pulled him into an awkward and very one-sided hug. Claire was the same way with hugs, if you caught the Ashcrofts off guard, they went all puffer fish on you. They pushed out their arms and chest and made themselves seem twice their normal size, creating a personal space within the embrace. 

 

"Claire's just blowing off steam..."

 

"I need Claire. I don't want her to realize she doesn't need me."

 

"Claire loves the shit out of you."

 

"We won't talk about it. She'll yell and I'll clam up or act juvenile."

 

That pretty well described their pattern of conflict resolution. 

 

"Crazy idea here, I know but, hear me out. Actually talk about it this time. Say you're sorry for being a dick. Claire likes hearing she's right, even if she already knows it."

 

"I let Nathan Barley give me a blow job. No, I asked Nathan Barley for a blow job. I defiled myself. I need... smiting. It is time I was smote."

 

"Fucking hell, Dan!" Jones laughed before taking a moment to consider his words. Dan's sex life was like a long and plot-heavy porno. The sex happened at random, with no personal engagement on either side, and with the women rarely repeating their performances. Dan's random hook-ups with Sasha were the closest thing he'd had to a relationship for as long as Jones had known him. Dan would fancy a girl and obsess about her but, other than the touchable but unattainable Sasha, would always find his potential soul mate somehow lacking before anything could get started. Then he got wasted and got off with whomever was available. 

 

Even for Dan, this was low. This was spiraling towards rock bottom low. It was nearing the time when Nathan Barley, himself, would need to stage and film an intervention for Dan. If it were up to him, Jones would name the show, "Well Intervening".

 

Dan hung his head and moaned.

 

Jones rubbed Dan's back and tried to think of something supportive to say before he finally asked the obvious question, "What the fuck were you thinking? He's a knob."

 

"I was drunk and depressed and I'm old as fuck and he thinks I'm cool when I am at least ten years past cool..."

 

"Hey!" protested Jones, who wasn't that much younger than Dan.

 

"I'm aging much faster than you," clarified Dan, with authority, "I have a grown daughter, remember? A grown daughter who spent the night with Ned Smanks. Smanks could be the father of my grandchild."

 

Jones was still trying to wrap his brain around the concept of Daddy Dan.

 

"You're gettin' ahead of yourself, old man, but you gotta make things right with Lenore. Her mum just died, you can't make her feel bad. You gotta tell her you're not angry, even if you are. She's just a kid."

 

Dan pulled out his cell phone, "Don't stop rocking me."

 

Jones rocked Dan as he left a message on Lenore's voicemail, "I'm sorry about over-reacting and anything I may have said. It's fine. The e-mail. Thank you. I appreciate what you... intended. Um. Don't be upset. Bye. Oh. This is Dan. Dan Ashcroft."

 

Dan hung up his phone and then stared at it like it was a newly sprouted limb. He was looking pretty pale.

 

"That was amazin', Dan! You didn't even procrastinate or nothin'. You just did the right thing like Claire was here makin' ya," Jones hugged Dan as he spoke, "You've got this kid thing on lock down."

 

"If she had answered, I'd have hung up and smashed my phone with a fucking hammer."

 

"Still counts. You did good."

 

Dan smiled and stroked the side of Jones' face. Years of familiarity had led to a certain physical comfort between the two men, but Dan didn't generally caress Jones. This was new and pretty damned interesting territory.

 

"I could really use a non-lethal form of intoxication right about now," Dan was nearly whispering.

 

"That is a terrible come on line," Jones observed, leaning into Dan's touch, "I don't know how you ended up with a kid."

 

"I need... something. You," Dan explained, his face twisted in concentration. 

 

"You've always got me, Danathan," Jones promised as he moved in for a kiss.

 

Dan's kiss was surprisingly tender. The normally scruffy Dan had shaved, perhaps still fearful of stray DNA. Jones thought this was like it would have been to kiss Dan back in his twenties. Back when he was always clean shaven and his cheekbones had been sharp enough to rival Jones'. Dan's declining mental state suited him. He got better looking as he fell apart, but Jones missed the spark of hope he associated with a clean-shaven Dan. When they had been Ashcroft and Jones, before Claire moved in and gave Dan back his given name, Dan had been very shy about his writing. He seemed confident enough in his skill, but he never wanted to tell anyone he was a writer. He kept so much to himself that every peek Jones could get behind Dan's disaffected facade felt meaningful.

 

Jones also missed the way Ashcroft had sometimes been boring.

 

Jones had chugged some cough medicine to fall asleep, and felt pleasantly buzzed as Dan took his hand and guided him towards the bedroom. The room had more or less become Claire's room over the years. She had managed to hang on to a modicum of modesty while living with two men who tended to forget she was of the fairer sex. Gone were the days of being able to walk around in pants (or naked) in his own home. If Claire was taking one of her long baths and Jones had to pee, he had to wee in the kitchen sink because no one was allowed to walk in while she was in the tub. The courtesy did not go both ways because, according to Claire, Dan and Jones were one step above apes and did not require privacy. It was a big change from living alone with Dan. When someone broke the bathroom door off of its hinges during a party, it was two years before they bothered to fix it (with the visiting Claire standing over them, reading from a DIY book). Claire wasn't the most diplomatic person in the world, but she had a point - she had brought a hint of civilization to their squat. On their own, Dan and Jones had gone for years without ever buying plates or utensils. All they had were items left over from parties. They used to make soup in a punch bowl and share it. 

 

Jones let himself be pushed on to the bed that wasn't Claire's. The bed Dan and Jones shared but never shared before. As soon as he heard the springs groan under their weight, Jones wished he'd set up a recorder. Not that he would use sex noises in a set, that was a bit Nathan Barley, but the creak of metal springs and an ancient bed frame had a certain industrial quality that could really bring an edge to a mix.

 

It was a useless thought, Dan wouldn't even let him record the sound of his typing. It made him self-conscious.

 

Getting undressed seemed like a surprisingly difficult task for two relatively sober people, and Jones wondered if it was a bad thing they didn't know how to get someone naked without a social lubricant.

 

"Dan, when's the last time you done it during day light hours?" Jones asked as he wrestled with his socks.

 

Dan wrinkled his forehead, "Fucking hell. I don't know. Mars during a lunch break? And I really didn't want to have sex then, but..."

 

"She touched your cock?"

 

Dan shrugged, "It was a subtle but convincing argument."

 

Jones closed his hand over the bulge in Dan's pants, "Will you let me set up a recorder by your keyboard at work?"

 

Dan frowned, "I told you, it'll to make me self-conscious, and I won't get any work done..."

 

Dan ran his thumb along the length of Dan's cock through the thin cotton of his briefs.

 

"Fine, fine. You can add me shoveling shit to your store of sounds."

 

Jones gave Dan's crotch an enthusiastic rub, "I love it! It's like a magic lamp."

 

xxx

 

Dan wanted to top him and Jones was feeling agreeable. Dan, always over thinking, tried to explain that he wasn't trying to be 'the man' or 'stray' or engage in other socio-political bullshit. 

 

"I just want to do something I'm good at."

 

Dan was good at it. He was gentle and passionate if a little detached. Jones could practically hear Dan going through his mental checklist, How to be good in bed, but that didn't stop him from digging his nails into Dan's skin and whimpering like a puppy as Dan fucked him. The steady creak of the bedsprings created a Philip Glass style soundtrack to their intimacy. If they did this again, Jones was definitely putting his recorder under the bed. He would never get tired of that sound.

 

He'd never get tired of the sound of Dan panting in his ear or his inarticulate murmurs of affection. 

 

"Fucking hell, Jones. Yes. Christ. So good. So beautiful..."

 

Jones responses were more along the line of strangled sobs and feral growls. Maybe not so great for a mix, he sounded like a cat in heat.

 

Jones came hard and fast and Dan looked extraordinarily pleased with himself as he took his time reaching his own orgasm. Dan's smug expression melted as Jones began a litany of filthy observations about what they were doing and how it felt. It wasn't long before Dan was fucking with the kind of desperation that Jones was certain Barley, Sasha or any other random warm body had never seen.

 

Dan barely had the condom off before he was asleep. Jones tried poking and prodding him to wake up and move to a couch before Claire came home and found them, but Dan was out cold. Jones decided he would get up, have a few cups of coffee and tweak his set for the night. He would just take a few minutes to bask in Dan's furnace-like, post-coital heat.

 

xxx

 

Claire came home to a quiet flat with no one passed out on either couch. She had a text from Dan so he was alive somewhere.

 

Unless, of course, someone else had sent the text. That would explain the random display of fraternal affection. Claire was idly wondering if Dan was trapped in the builder's basement, preparing to live his life as a love slave, when she found Dan.

 

And Jones.

 

She quietly closed the door and wished she had someone to tell. If she stayed in the house, they'd know she knew...

 

Claire decided to head to Trash Bat. She obviously couldn't talk to Nathan, he'd tell everyone, but Pingu could probably be trusted.

 

Maybe she could call Elizabeth. It had been ages since she had a proper girlfriend. 

 

xxx

 

Dan woke with a start. For a horrible moment, he thought it might be Nathan Barley in bed beside him. When he realized it was Jones, he was so relieved he forwent the desperate need to empty his bladder for a few moments of what could only be called spooning. Jones smelled like sweat, semen, hairspray and safety. 

 

And he smelled like fake bananas from the flavored condoms they had used. Jones said he didn't buy them and Dan certainly hadn't. That left the horrible mental image of Claire buying flavored condoms. The idea of Claire buying flavored condoms was enough to make him want to rip Nathan Barley's cock off, and yet he had...

 

Don't think about that.

 

What if he had actually raised a daughter? He was able to tolerate the idea of Lenore and Smanks...

 

He could tolerate it as long as he didn't think about it very much.

 

It took some self-control, not something Dan had in great store, to leave Jones in peace and use the bathroom. When he returned, Jones had spread his slim frame across the entire bed and Dan took it as a sign he should stay awake. He really didn't want Claire to find her flat mates in such a compromising position. Claire's bossiness rarely extended to Dan's love life but she would definitely have something to say about this. Dan pulled on his jeans and realized his wallet was missing. A glass of orange juice hydrated his brain enough to remind him he had changed clothes after last night's debacle.

 

Don't think about it, his brain warned.

 

He flipped open his wallet to see if he had cash for a decent meal and found a cheque for 10,000 pounds. Dan blinked at the number and wondered if he, Dan Ashcroft, had actually stumbled upon some good luck. Then he saw the name on the cheque. 

 

He didn't remember making a sound but Jones later described it as an "actual blood curdling scream, I'm telling ya. I think my blood is curdled! I might need to go to hospital."

 

xxx

 

Claire was surprised to find Nathan hard at work on a Saturday afternoon.

 

"I thought you'd be recovering from last night," Claire said as she walked in the door. Nathan gave a guilty start.

 

"What do you mean? Nothing happened last night," he stammered. Nathan's tendency to regress to an insecure teen at the drop of a hat went a long way towards keeping Claire from throttling him. He was such a child.

 

"Big party? Lots of drinking? Have you finally given yourself brain damage with all those trendy designer drugs you think are so well Mexico?"

 

Claire was getting ready to enjoy some good old-fashioned Nathan torture when she saw what was on his editing screen.

 

"You can't run that!" Claire yelled, "Dan will kill you! Right before he kills himself."

 

Nathan had had the decency to shoot from behind Dan so nothing was exposed, but nothing Dan had ever done to her was bad enough to steel her heart to the liquor besotted man peeing on a wall while 15Peter20 snapped away. Dan held up one hand to block the light of the flash and the footage ended.

 

"Relax, Claire-babes. It's going to be in his next collection," Nathan explained, "S'not like I'm showing anything Dan didn't get paid to show himself. Well Mapplethorne."

 

"Mapplethorpe, you idiot. You know Dan was completely shitfaced. He probably still doesn't know what happened," Claire snapped indignantly, feeling a tad bit guilty for laughing about the situation the night before.

 

Nathan quickly changed the topic, and was surprisingly helpful as she discussed the changes suggested by Lenore and Elizabeth. Of course, he was blind to the irony of his self-importance held up to the real struggles of London street people, but that was what made him perfect for the project. He was the epitome of the useless, trendy, self-aggrandizing idiot that the film needed. He was actually throwing out some good ideas when Claire received a text from Dan. He asked her to pick up some eggs and "a gun so I can blow my fucking brains out". He apparently knew about 15Peter20. Claire wasn't one to back down from a sensitive situation but she was glad not to be the one to have to tell him. She had a feeling she might have laughed again.

 

xxx

 

Dan couldn't cook for shit but he made a hell of a Saturday night fry up. His recipe consisted of eggs, left-over take out, lots of oil and a pre-dinner joint. Claire was generally opposed to illicit drugs because of the horrible web of political injustice and abuse that fed the drug trafficking world. However, she made an exception on Saturday nights. She wasn't sure what the fry ups tasted like without the herbal appetizer, but she had reason to believe they would be less tasty straight. Dan probably didn't have a working taste receptor left in his mouth after years of chain smoking. He could fry up packing peanuts and be happy. 

 

Jones, like Claire, was a vegetarian, except on Saturdays.

 

Claire watched Jones at his tables, gearing up for the night's gig. He and Dan were acting totally normal like nothing major or life-changing had occurred. Maybe it had just been a one time thing.

 

Or maybe they did it all the time and Claire just never caught them before. She never really understood their relationship. 

 

Jones was a bit of a nut case but he was a kind hearted person. He was good for Dan. Any inclination on Claire's part to say something to that effect was crushed by the realization her approval could only scare Dan away. What could be more frightening to Dan Ashcroft than making a healthy choice?

 

"You comin' tonight?" Jones screamed over the blaring music. Claire nodded and Jones flashed his megawatt smile.

 

Claire looked at her brother's back as he sorted take-away boxes by continent. She pulled out her phone and sent out a text to Elizabeth, then she took a long, deep pull and asked Dan for an extra-spicy plate. 

 

When Jones finally abandoned the tables, turning the music down so they could more easily yell over it, Claire warned Dan she was bringing Lenore and Elizabeth to The Place that night.

 

Dan didn't say a word, he just jammed an enormous forkful of food into his mouth. He followed with a second without chewing. It struck Claire as funny and she giggled.

 

"You are well cute when you laugh, Claire," Jones said around a mouthful of food, "Why don't you laugh more?"

 

Claire looked at the man who blasted music until 4:30am on a nightly basis, "I don't know Jones. I should laugh more. Dan, I showed Lenny and Liz my movie..."

 

Dan repeated, "Lenny and Liz," in a sing-song the way he would when she was ten (and he was eighteen and at university). 

 

"and I think they liked it..."

 

Jones smiled and pumped his fist with the music. Claire wasn't sure it was related to her words until he said, "Ashcrofts unite."

 

"That's the thing..." Claire handed the joint to Dan who took a long pull. His eyes were smaller and redder than usual, impossible to read even from a short distance.

 

"The thing is," Claire continued, "Lenore and Liz both thought the movie came across as too earnest, and that it needs a little more edge."

 

Dan was nodding as though he would certainly agree if he ever saw the film, or in fact, paid attention when she talked about it.

 

"Most of their suggestions, Nathan can help me with."

 

Dan looked dubious.

 

"But Elizabeth thought it would be good to get some footage of fashionable people dressing like they're homeless..."

 

Claire glanced at Dan, who could not sit on a bench without be shooed away as a tramp, and Jones, who was wearing Dan's old tee-shirt (minus the sleeves) over Claire's old tank top.

 

"People who have enough money but dress like tramps to be fashionable, and Lenore thought..." she really wished Dan weren't paying such close attention to her as she spoke, "Pass the joint?"

 

Dan seemed to be surprised he still had it between his lips, but passed it quickly. Claire inhaled deeply and tried to find that place where, through drugs and lager, fear was replaced by boundless and unearned confidence.

 

"Lenore thought it would be smart to use Rise of the Idiots as a framing device," Claire explained as she tapped the extensive ash from Dan. He was the only person Claire knew who actually Bogarted a joint, "Of course, we'd have to work something out with Sugar Ape and you'd have to approve..."

 

The silence lasted far too long before Dan finally said, "Yeah, of course. I'm sure you can talk Jonatton Yeah? into letting you use the piece. He likes Barley."

 

Barley had been offered a column more than once but always turned it down, claiming to be too busy. Claire thought Nathan was intimidated by the idea of writing next to his hero. Claire found Nathan's insecurity endearing.

 

Even if it was all just in her head.

 

Claire nodded and took another puff before passing to Jones, who was literally dancing in his seat.

 

"I love Saturday nights," Jones announced, apropos of nothing.

 

"Why do you love Saturday nights?" Dan asked.

 

"There's so much possibility! It's the beginning of the week and everything is new and exciting."

 

"Do you really feel like that?" Dan asked, lighting up a cigarette.

 

"Yeah!" Jones replied with a grin.

 

Dan smiled, "I like Saturdays, too."

 

Claire smiled to herself and when Jones asked why she was so happy, she couldn't remember but her Kung Pau eggs were amazing.


	6. Saturday Night

Dan Ashcroft occasionally wrote reviews for Sugar Ape. He didn't review concerts, plays or restaurants - he reviewed events, parties and the occasional 'happening'. He might talk about the food or the drinks or even the music, but those trivial aspects were never the point of the review. The review would focus on the one factor that meant anything to Dan and therefore to those who turned to Sugar Ape for opinions; was it fun to get drunk there? Was it the kind of atmosphere that made you want to take drugs and have sex with strangers in the toilet? Did you feel the need to find a dark room and listen to power ballads? At any point during the night, did you find yourself rooting through a stranger's fridge for food? Did you pee in a isolated corner with the hope that it would take the owner of the locale weeks to locate the source of the urine smell? Did you, at any point, shave any hair off of someone's pet?

 

Dan had experienced all those kinds of parties and written about them, shaved angora cats (Jonatton Yeah's) and all.

 

Within ten minutes of stepping through the door, he had a whiskey neat and a phone number he had no intention of ever calling. It was a good party.

 

The Place was insufferable. Run by Doug Rocket, it was the most absurdly self-important and yet completely useless facility known to man. Rocket fancied himself a patron of the arts but he wouldn't know art if it bit him in the ass. 

 

Dan was planning on going easy on the liquor that night. If it weren't for Jones, he wouldn't have left the house. As dreadful as The Place was, it was a high profile gig and Dan would write it up for Jones' sake, because Jones was his friend.

 

Not just because he was hoping for a repeat of that afternoon. That was an entirely separate issue.

 

Dan's plan to nurse his whiskey ended when 15Peter20 and Doug Rocket descended on him at the same time.

 

"Preacher Man!" 15Peter20 cried as he primped his Geek Pie hair, "Your photos are amazing! You and Doug are going to be the stand-outs of my next collection."

 

"I pissed onto a bongo drum," Doug explained, "It's very organic and ethnic. It's the combination of music, art and the human body that I've been looking for."

 

Dan downed his drink.

 

"Please, for the sake of what is left of my sanity, will the two of you bum wipes just admit to me that you know these photographs are shit. I won't tell anyone, I just need to know you aren't actually proud of what you've done," Dan implored.

 

15Peter20 had the temerity to gasp but Doug kept his faux-cool.

 

"Dan, you of all people should understand the importance of ironic art. Take your piece on giving a hand job to a builder..."

 

"That was neither ironic nor art," Dan clarified, "That was me tossing off a builder for money."

 

15Peter20 gasped again.

 

"This isn't a fireworks display," Dan snapped, "Quit gasping."

 

"Dan, I can see you are in a very negative space right now, probably because you are feeling vulnerable. 15Peter20 was just explaining to me..."

 

"I feel vulnerable because a bunch of twats are going to see me pissing against a wall in a shitty 'art show'. It isn't clever, it isn't edgy. It's just piss."

 

Doug and 15Peter20 were stunned long enough for Dan to escape. The good thing about working for a terrible magazine like Sugar Ape was that people like Doug Rocket and 15Peter20 had to listen to Dan when he spoke. Lowly hack that he was, he wrote for the Bible of cool. Dan wouldn't actually slag off 15Peter20 in Sugar Ape, it would never get printed, but the threat remained. It was almost worth selling his soul.

 

Someone shoved a drink in his hand.

 

That was the other benefit to working for a shit magazine. The drinks were always on the house.

 

He was feeling down right chuffed as he walked into the next room. There was an 24 foot tall video screen playing images of what passed for "art" at the Place. Pure idiocy but Jones had the crowd on its feet.

 

Dan Ashcroft was feeling good about life.

 

And then he noticed a 24 ft tall image of himself pissing on a wall. Tomorrow he would stop drinking so much. Tonight he was blacking out.

 

xxx

 

Lenore was staring at herself in a storefront as Claire wandered up and down the street, trying to find a spot with decent reception.

 

"I just don't feel like myself," Lenore observed as she moved her hands over her face like it was an alien thing.

 

"You look amazing!" Elizabeth insisted though, truth be told, Lenny did look a bit whorish. Elizabeth wasn't used to putting make-up on white girls, and they couldn't handle quite as much color. Still, the whorey look suited Lenore.

 

"Are you fucking kidding me?' Claire yelled before slamming her phone shut, "Well, I'm off!"

 

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Elizabeth asked, placing an arm around Claire. She moved slowly, as though approaching a feral animal.

 

"Apparently there's 20 foot photo on display of Dan with his cock out," Claire snapped in a tone that implied she had come to the party with the expectation it would be ruined by an enormous photo of her brother exposing his junk to the world.

 

Lenore turned pale under her rogue, and muttered something about how she wasn't meant for parties. 

 

Elizabeth pulled her posse in for a hug, "So? We won't go in that room! There's no reason we can't have a good time just because Dan has a weak bladder. I say we go in, have some drinks, dance with some beautiful boys and see if Lenore's sex doll make-up gets us into a pictorial."

 

Elizabeth ignored the whining from Claire, and the pleas for a mirror and a tissue from Lenore, and dragged her girls past the line and into the party. There was no way in hell she wasn't getting a look at that picture. 

 

xxx

 

Dan was under a nice, over-sized desk but a girl had followed him in and she kept talking. It was making him dizzy. He tried explaining he was trying something out with his flat mate and really wasn't looking for companionship. When she still tried it on, he explained he'd already had sex with three people in the past 24 hrs and four would really be too many. That was a line he didn't want to cross. He sent a text to Jones letting him know where to find him when the set was over.

 

I'm under a desk.

 

He fell asleep, secure that Jones would find him and hoping the girl will have gone by then.

 

xxx

 

Lenore could sell sand in a desert by the methodical use of buzz words. Claire looked annoyed but Elizabeth was hypnotized.

 

"This film is so relevant because it's authentic..." Lenore explained for the millionth time.

 

"The only way to be relevant is to be authentic," Doug Rocket parroted.

 

"Everyone is sick of the detached irony. They want something authentic!"

 

"Something truly real and just... authentic," Doug agreed.

 

"It's the only way to be relevant."

 

Elizabeth whispered in Claire's ear, "I bet she could get him to cluck like a chicken when she snaps her fingers."

 

Claire gave her a punch in the arm, but she was laughing.

 

"Be quiet," Claire whispered, "This idiot doesn't remember me or my film. If she gets him to screen it here, my brain will explode."

 

"What we need at the Place is films that are authentic..." Doug said, on cue.

 

Claire did not lose her mind but Elizabeth nearly lost her lunch when Lenore said, "It's the only way to remain authentically relevant."

 

"Now look at this piece..." Doug said, pointing to the screen in the adjoining room, "Now that is authentic."

 

They all looked on instinct, all their mental preparation for naught. When someone says, "Hey, look at this." You look at it. It's an evolutionary imperative. You need to listen when someone says, "Look at that," or you will die.

 

All three women looked.

 

Claire and Lenore both shrieked in horror but Elizabeth thought it was a gorgeous shot. Dan's arm was up to block the light, and there was a glow in his shadowed eyes. His expression is completely unreadable, and, naturally, he was holding his penis. It was ridiculous but beautifully ridiculous like DJ Jones' haircut. She wanted to know the person in the photograph.

 

Elizabeth watched until the image dissolved and is replaced with the image of Doug Rocket pissing on some bongo drums. 

 

She doesn't tell Claire and Lenore the coast is clear until another photo fills the screen. As upsetting as it might be to see a close relative having a wee, it's nothing compared to the upsetting sight of Doug Rocket with his junk in hand. It was pure nightmare material, and yet Elizabeth couldn't look away.

 

xxx

 

It should have been Jones and Claire coming to rouse Dan from his hiding place. There was no reason in hell for it to be Claire and Nathan. No reason.

 

"They're gonna screen me and Claire's movie here is a few months, Dan," Nathan announced as he wormed his way under Dan's arm and tugged him out from under the desk.

 

"Our movie?" Claire asked.

 

"The Preach knows what I mean," Nathan back-peddled, " but I have helped."

 

"You've been a big help," Claire acknowledged.

 

"And it is my equipment..."

 

Dan groaned as he was hauled to his feet. Claire's film being screened at the Place. Claire's film with Dan's words. The best thing Dan ever wrote, his favorite child...

 

He had an actual child now. It was time for perspective.

 

He leaned a little heavier on Nathan than strictly necessary, and it had nothing to do with trying to spare his sister's back. She's dragged him further on her own, he just wants to feel Nathan struggle.

 

"Nathan!" Claire yelped, "Watch your hands, you prick."

 

It was shockingly easy to pin Nathan to a wall by his neck. Dan was off his tits and had ten years on the man; Nathan should have been able to defend himself but he didn't. He was a slimy opportunist but he wasn't good in a crisis. 

 

He was weak.

 

"You have no place touching Claire. You shouldn't even know her. You're just barely good enough to give her things, you miserable little tit."

 

Nathan was pulling at Dan's hand ineffectively, visibly struggling to breath. He was so very weak.

 

"Leave it, Dan," Claire snapped, pulling his arm. He was stronger, but she knew his weak spots. Claire could take him down if she tried.

 

"You know what you deserve, Barley?" Dan asked, "You deserve just what you get."

 

Nathan went a bit pale.

 

"You're a fucking parasite," Dan spat as he allowed himself to be pulled away by Claire, "You are helpful to Claire the way a tape worm is helpful to a person trying to lose weight."

 

"Ease up, Dan, you're pissed and it's late," Claire said in an unusually gentle tone, "Let's just go home. Jones is packing his stuff up now."

 

The mention of Jones eased the hostility burning in his chest. He wanted to tell Jones he didn't get off with a strange woman, even though he was drunk and it would have been easier to let her go down on him than to chase her out from under his desk. 

 

That's the kind of shit a man does when he's in love.

 

xxx

 

Dan was barely coherent but he was full of affection. That's wasn't unusual for Dan but the roaming hands and tongue were a pleasant addition. Claire, subtle as a brick through a window, offered to sleep on the couch so Dan and Jones could 'sleep it off' in the bedroom. 

 

Since Dan's hand was on his arse, Jones took her up on her offer.

 

Dan was muttering about not getting off with some random girl. Jones meant to call him a beautiful disaster but somehow stopped at beautiful. Dan looked uncomfortable and went still. Jones felt he was probably supposed to leave at that point but Dan's arm was still around his waist.

 

"Dan?" he asked, trying not to press his erection into Dan's hip, "Do ya want me to...?"

 

"I don't want to fuck this up," Dan explained, running his hand over Jones' arse, "Fucking this up would be... really fucked up."

 

Jones felt relieved. Dan couldn't be too drunk if he was still clear headed enough to catastrophize.

 

"You wanna fuck me again?" Jones asked before he began sucking on Dan's neck. That neck was begging for a love bite.

 

Dan moaned, "I am way too drunk for that."

 

Although Dan hitched his legs up in a clear invitation to reverse their previous roles, Jones didn't really want to try anything complicated while Dan was likely to pass out. Instead, he simply remained between Dan's long legs, rubbing their cocks together until they were sweating and moaning like teenagers, depositing their come on Dan's belly.

 

Dan laughed and fell asleep. Jones cleaned them both up and took what he hoped was Ativan before curling up to Dan's side to either sleep or trip balls. He should have labeled the bottles.


	7. Revenge, Yeah?

Dan showered, used eye drops and wore clean clothes to work Monday morning. He would have gotten a haircut if there had been time. He wanted to create some distance between himself and the man 15Peter20 had captured in all his weeing glory.

 

He thought long and hard about it, and he was keeping the fucking money so he needed to learn to live with the consequences of his actions.

 

Sasha was cool towards him at the reception desk but sent a flirtatious IM. Dan was feeling conflicted about what to do when a new IM came through.

 

Are you fucking kidding me?

 

Dan looked up. Sasha was holding the interoffice envelope containing her knickers. Dan dropped his head onto his desk, mortified but a little relieved he didn't have to bother letting her know he was pursuing someone else. He had already moved himself from the "Maybe with enough effort" column back to "Total Fuckwad" on Sasha's table of potential boyfriends.

 

He had already written up a piece on the Place party (and was on his fourth cup of coffee) before Jonatton called the staff meeting. 

 

"Danbo, you're writing a piece for Rolling Stone. Write a piece for us about writing a piece for them. Make it hurt," Jonatton suggested.

 

"Hurt?" Dan asked.

 

"The editing process, having your hands tied, being forced to spell colour without a u? Whatever upsets you about writing for them, gripe away. No one wants a happy Dan Ashcroft. Ned, I want you work on a pictorial for 15Peter20, using his pics from our party. It's cross promotion at its best but we cannot, and I must make this clear, we cannot have a photo of Dan with his cock out in our magazine, but we don't want the photo to look edited. Get creative?"

 

The table was looking at Dan so he gave in and asked the obvious, "Why aren't we showing my penis? I mean, thank you, I suppose..."

 

"It's an ethical issue, Pet. We can't have an over-the-hill rent boy as our star writer."

 

Dan leaned back in his chair, oddly content. 

 

"Is it too soon to do another piece on Barley," asked Rufus Onslatt, "He's been getting some amazing footage. He's got that clip of him and Dan snogging..."

 

Jonatton looked at Dan who was trying to disappear into his chair, "No one is going to buy the cow if you keep giving that milk away for free, Pet. Keep it in your pants until the Rolling Stone article is over?"

 

Dan agreed to write 1,000 words about an electric cigarette. It sounded idiotic but, after drinking and self-loathing, smoking was the subject on which he was best informed.

 

"You deserve just what you get," Dan's voice snarled into the air. Dan flinched as Smanks nervously slapped his hand over his phone.

 

"Sorry, forgot to turn the ringer off," Smanks apologized as he fumbled with the phone.

 

"You deserve just what you get." Dan was surprised by how hateful he sounded. He didn't think he was still capable of such strong emotion. Apparently that part of his brain hadn't been drowned in whiskey, it was just severely water-logged.

 

Less than 24 hours between Nathan being thrown against a wall and insulted to turning that insult into a ringtone. Nathan had no soul.

 

"You deserve just what you get." Dan was glad Nathan was a human sized rat or else he might have felt guilty about coaxing a blowie from someone who idealized him, and then mocking him for it. It was good Dan didn't have to wonder if he had been a little too unkind.

 

Dan got petty cash from a cold Sasha and bought himself an electric cigarette. He needed to do some research until Rolling Stone actually contacted him directly with their expectations.

 

And he needed to smoke.

 

xxx

 

Dan wanted to set his electric cigarette on fire. He missed the toxic smoke filling his lungs, killing his cells but also his fears and anxieties.

 

"Do you think I should apologize?" Dan finally asked.

 

"Fuck no!" Jones laughed, "Are you mental? You can't apologize to Nathan Barley."

 

"But you think I crossed a line..."

 

"Yeah? So you got a bit nasty. He turned it into a ring tone. He ain't like you, Dan," Jones said with a shrug, "You can't give him any power over you. None. You should know that by now. He's an opportunist, right? What he does, like what he actually really does, is find opportunities. You're no good at protecting yourself. You've got no defenses."

 

"Do you want to read my write up of your gig before I submit it?" Dan asked, ready to change the subject.

 

"Why? You put somethin' bad in there?"

 

"Of course not, it was a great set," Dan explained, "I just thought that since we're..."

 

"Fucking?"

 

"I thought I should offer," Dan finished lamely. 

 

"Did you mention it in the article?" Jones asked, his face lighting up, "DJ Jones rocks the Place and sucks cock like champ on page 15."

 

"If I wouldn't write an article about tossing off a builder without actually going through with it, why would I write about your cock-sucking skills without first hand experience?" Dan asked, trying to imitate Jonatton's melodramatic 'Dan face'. 

 

"Well, I did just drink a pot of coffee so I'll be up for a while..."

 

"You bet you will," Dan agreed, pulling Jones in for a kiss. He tasted of sugary coffee.

 

And he sucked cock like a champ. 

 

xxx

 

Claire recorded dozens of people reading "The Rise of the Idiots". Even Dan read for her, his voice sounding so much smoother and authoritative recorded than in real life. When she told him his voice would be perfect for voice over work, he told her that her eyebrows looked like caterpillars. She wasn't upset because she knew: 1) Dan was feeling vulnerable about putting his work in someone else's hands 2) he was upset about the fact 15Peter20 was gearing up for an art opening and soon someone would probably own a photo of Dan (with his junk in hand) 3) for the first time ever - Dan was in a genuine romantic relationship 4) Elizabeth had assured her thick eyebrows were de rigueur 5) And Dan was a bit of a dick.

 

Elizabeth's posh accent reading Dan's harsh words was charming. Nathan sounded like a self-satisfied tit. Smanks was and sounded stoned. Toby put a question mark at the end of every sentence like a second rate Jonatton Yeah?. Lenore read exactly the way one expected an American studying at Cambridge to read and it was wonderful. 

 

Claire hated the sound of her own voice, she sounded bossy and obnoxious.

 

Jones was impossible to understand but he looked gorgeous in a talking head so he'd make the cut.

 

Pingu was too sad, he seemed worse off than some of the junkies.

 

She was shocked to actually get a response from Mars. Mars read the piece like she was working a Vaudeville stage. Her personality and hair were endlessly huge and over the top. Claire had always liked Mars and thought Dan should get serious with her. Although she considered her brother very talented, she always had the feeling he would be best off marrying a sugar mamma. He wasn't suited to taking care of himself. 

 

Mars was a 1930's tough dame who apparently traveled through time to the oughts. She was a crass, commercial careerist but she was a powerful force in a male dominated world. Having put in her time as a starving artist, Claire was becoming increasingly appreciative of what it took to be a success.

 

Mars was currently the editor of one of Sugar Ape's biggest competitors but she was trying to launch her own digital magazine. She was trying to get backing from none other than Lenore Publishing.

 

"It was Marilyn Arthur's company but now her little girl is the de facto head. The kid doesn't know shit about the business."

 

"Lenore Arthur is a good friend of mine..." it was somehow less wrong than mentioning Lenore was her niece.

 

Mars' eyes became downright predatory.

 

"This film seems like just the kind of evocative and important film that E-lite magazine hopes to showcase," Mars said with a feral smile, "So is Dan happy at Sugar Ape or do you think he's ready for a move? Maybe something with a little more pay? More artistic freedom?"

 

If Mars had pulled out a contract exchanging Claire's soul for a good write up in E-lite, Claire would have signed in blood. She had always thought Dan was making excuses when he couldn't quite explain why he'd repeatedly had sex with a woman he barely liked, but she was starting to understand. It was good that Mars tastes ran to young men and not women. Claire didn't want to know how far she'd go to satisfy her own ambitions. Not with a woman with aquamarine hair.

 

xxx

 

"Danny Boy!"

 

Dan hung up the phone. Sasha gave him a pointed look before forwarding the second call to his desk.

 

"What do you want, Mars?"

 

"I want you, Daniel. I want your mopey, miserable, misanthropic, pseudo-intellectual bullshit, and I am willing to pay for it."

 

"Are you high?" Dan asked.

 

"Doctor prescribed, Danny, it's just a little something to get me through the day. To help me calm down."

 

"You should take more."

 

"Danny, I have missed this witty repartee. Be at my office in an hour."

 

"I don't know where you work. I thought you were in America..."

 

"I'm texting you the directions right now. I couldn't bear America. Everyone is too fat or too thin."

 

"How do you know my number?"

 

"That charming receptionist gave it to me. Wash your hair and I bet she wouldn't half fancy you. Remember that dreadful girl we had working reception when I was there?"

 

"Your daughter?"

 

"Useless! Thank God she married money, I was ready to put her in a home."

 

"A home for... lazy people?"

 

"I'll see you in hour, Danny Boy. Be sober."

 

"Why?" Dan asked but Mars had already hung up. He looked across the room at Sasha and an IM popped up on his screen.

 

She's starting a 'cutting edge, interactive, fully digital response' to the 'archaic magazine'.

 

He typed back, So, a webzine?

 

Do NOT use that word! She has money and connections. Fluff your coiffure and go. 

 

xxx

 

Dan's article for Rolling Stone was well-received by everyone but Jonatton Yeah? who took umbrage to Dan's description of himself as "a hack at a shit magazine that specializes in diminishing the horror of rape." His next few assignments reflected Jonatton's unspoken anger.

 

His last article was on metrosexuals. Nathan Barley had thoroughly hyped it on his heinous website and called it 'Well Ashcroft' whatever the fuck that meant.

 

Mars' office was absurdly modern. Empty surfaces stretched into the horizon. The secretary looked terribly small and lonely.

 

The secretary did a double take when he said his name.

 

"I was expecting something... different," she explained before calling Mars.

 

Mars looked completely different but exactly the same. Her hair was a ridiculous shade of blue, a color likely chosen to match her glasses.

 

"Holy fucking shit, Daniel. What the fuck happened to you? I heard you went gay but this is tremendous."

 

Mars grabbed his spray-tanned and manicured hands. He was tanned everywhere. Everywhere. The 18-year-old girl (younger than his actual daughter) with the nozzle wouldn't let him keep his pants on. She kept barking, "I'm just following the rules, sir."

 

The haircut from Troll at Stanley Knives was absurdly expensive but there was nothing Dan could do (and god knows he tried) to mess it up. Each follicle knew its place. Laser hair removal meant he wouldn't have stubble for a few more weeks. Claire had thrown away most of his old clothes two days earlier when he called her Bugs Bunny for suggesting he start buying all his clothes at Topman. Claire couldn't leave the flat without some guy chatting her up and yet the easiest way to get under her skin was to make a comment about her looks. He couldn't seem to stop being unpleasant with Claire. He snipped at her and intentionally annoyed her as she prepared to show her film. He'd screamed at her about the clothes when he really didn't care. Jonatton had been very generous with the expense account and Dan had to buy enough outfits to get through two weeks of metrosexuality. Metrosexuality required wearing different clothes every day, even on weekends. He'd bought clothes close enough to his taste that it wasn't unbearable, it was just... It was fucking Topman. He just felt rushing to buy new, crappy looking clothes might seem like... It was fucking idiotic to go out of your way to look like a tramp. He'd just have to wait for his new clothes to start falling apart. Either way, he was going to look like an idiot.

 

Like that was a real concern when he had a St. Tropez tan in London. 

 

Sasha thought he looked "beautiful", and his mother thought he finally looked like a grown-up (Claire sent them pictures). Jones refused to have sex with him with the lights on until the fake tan faded. Even in the dark, Jones would laugh and call him a tit or asked him what it was like working on the show, "Friends". 

 

Admittedly, the 'manscaping' had worked to make his chest look broader and his cock look bigger. Jones' interest in the later did not make him willing to look at Dan's orange-ish family jewels in the light. Jones and Nathan Barley were neck in neck for most 'facial' jokes made. 

 

"It's for a story. I don't look like this, I'm not..." Dan tried to think of a word other than 'respectable', "I haven't changed."

 

"You're smoking an electric cigarette and you have a boyfriend. You have changed. I hope not too much. You're still drinking, I hope."

 

Dan pulled out his electric cigarette, "I can smoke this anywhere, no toxic stench."

 

He was drinking less, mainly because the regular sex helped him sleep. He still drank too much. He wasn't becoming the person Jonatton was trying to make him. To pay for slamming Sugar Ape in another mag, Dan was sentenced to being a vegan for a month, weeks of yoga (Dan hated relaxing), two weeks as a metrosexual, and a mother-fucking Sugar Ape book club. Every week, he and Jonatton took turns explaining the shortest novel Dan could think of, "The Portrait of Dorian Gray" to idiots like Ned and Rufus and that fucking guy with the tiny hat. The first week they covered, "Um, are these guys just totally benders?", the second week they dealt with, "Ain't that portrait just like a rip off of Harry Potter and shit?" In those moments, Dan really felt the difference between he and Jonatton. While Jonatton was a surprising fount of literary knowledge, he was perpetually amused as the retarded monkies in his employ pointed out that "no love dare speak it's name cause love can't speak and shit" while Dan's soul crumbled with each meeting. It was worse than tossing the builder, that really only affected his hand, eyes and brain. This new torture was changing his whole body. He didn't like feeling healthy or relaxed. He didn't like people asking him for directions, and calling him sir. He did not want the people in his office finding him "more approachable."

 

"I've read all your articles, Dan, but you've been on a streak. You're such a miserable git."

 

"Thanks, Mars. You are the most one dimensional person I've ever met. You could actually live in 'Flatland'."

 

"Danny, you're a dinosaur. There's no future in magazines. No one wants to kill a bunch of trees to look at full page adverts for shitty smelling cologne. The only people who still want to own the printed word, the actual copy, are pretentious prats with more money than brains. Those people love you. You offer them a very mild and non-threatening challenge with your Northern grit and Shoreditch cool. These are your idiots, as well, Dan. Preacher Man. They're smart and they dress better but they're idiots no less. These are the people who pay for plus accounts, who pay for transcripts, who will buy a coffee book. That's where the money is and that's why I need you."

 

"What would I be writing about?" Dan asked. Job interviews were much simpler when they were with someone you've known for years and years and who knows you can't think when you're nervous.

 

And when you don't want the job.

 

"Whatever you want. You're own column. Total artistic freedom. You can call me a cunt and I guarantee it will run. Do you know why?"

 

"Artistic integrity?"

 

"Because people buy that shit up! Bite the hand that feeds you as long as you're bringing money in."

 

"What would you pay?"

 

He would be salaried but required to do 12 columns.

 

It was twice what he was making at Sugar Ape.

 

"I've got the money, Daniel. We've got Lenore Publishing funding us! The little bitch that owns the company now is demanding favors left and right. She's only a figure head, but all her little friends are getting coverage in the first edition."

 

"Did she mention me...?"

 

"No. Was she supposed to? She's a bit young. Not for my tastes, I like my boys young but you? You didn't date girls that age when you were that age. You always went for the older woman."

 

"Lenore is my daughter."

 

Mars looked just the slightest bit surprised but nodded, "That makes more sense."

 

That - more than the money, more than the way he hated Sugar Ape and more than he wanted a proper office - it was Mars' basic understanding of his weakness and vices that made him decide to take a chance. She saw him as he was.

 

"Andrea?" Mars barked into her phone, "Bring your camera. We need a staff photo of Dan before he goes back to looking like shit."

 

This was working for Mars.

 

"Nice photo for 15Peter20, Danny," Mars said in a casual voice, "I might buy it for your office! Or mine."

 

"I know you're joking..."

 

"I'm not," Mars objected.

 

"But if that piece of shit finds it's way through these doors..."

 

"Daniel, you are the sum of your flaws and we all love you for it, but you can't be a beautiful train wreck forever. You're getting older, people are going to start expecting wisdom! You can't be middle-aged and bitching about..."

 

"I'm not middle-aged," Dan snapped, "I'm thirty-eight..."

 

"And how long do you expect to live?" Mars asked, "It goes by so fast, Dan. So very fast. One day you're an up and comer and the next you're trying to make bitches out of the people who want to slit your throat. That's why the Madonna I pray to is married to Guy Ritchie. Little slutty blond girls come along and she sucks their fame and makes it hers like a tiny, well-toned vampire. She's Dorian Gray and those Mouskateers are her portraits."

 

"You're insane, Mars," Dan said dryly, his eye twitching at the mention of Dorian Gray. Fucking book club.

 

"Picture time!" Mars cried as Andrea walked in the door with a camera, "Don't smile. Look moody and mysterious."

 

Dan glared and Andrea snapped away.

 

"So, tell me, Danny Boy. Who else should I steal from Sugar Ape?"

 

xxx

 

Dan and Lenore had a standing lunch date, the first Thursday of the month. When they saw each other between those days, they were friendly but kept things light. Neither was eager to suddenly have a close or intimate relationship. 

 

"Wow. That tan and haircut are really sticking," Lenore observed with sympathy, "Practice pretending to look at your watch and hailing imaginary cabs and you might have a career as a male model."

 

He was living nicely on his money from 15Peter20 and had actually gotten quite a few offers to 'model' since then, mainly from 'freelance' photogs who wanted to take the pics on their phones. The builder (Eric? He could never remember) had "ended things", i.e., he was no longer stalking Dan since Dan had "cheapened himself" by doing "porn".

 

Not even Dan could argue the 15Peter20 shot was artistic. It wasn't porn, it was just shit.

 

"Mars called me," Dan began, "Offered me a job at her new magazine."

 

Lenore's lips twitched in a clear effort not to smile, "And did you take it?"

 

Dan nodded and Lenore clapped her hands in delight, "That woman is completely mental. I think she might be my new hero."

 

"I hope you aren't funding this magazine as some kind of...," Dan searched for a word, "alternative to putting me in a home in my old age?"

 

Lenore poked through her salad for a tomato, "Mars is a well-established and successful magazine editor who tracked me down, personally, by stalking me after class and kept talking until I literally ran away from her. She's a little psycho but... I think those are the kind of people who are successful." 

 

Dan thought she had a point. People like Mars, Doug Rocket and Nathan Barley certainly weren't any more talented than their counterparts. They didn't even work especially hard. They were just... a little psycho. While every tit in London was trying to be a 'celebrity DJ', Jones was owning the scene with hair he'd cut with a Stanley knife (Stanley Knives was named for Jones) while on shrooms and his current set up included a working Victrola. Jones was a sweet, beautiful, wonderful, good-natured bat-shit crazy loon.

 

"Mars said you were pulling strings for some of your friends but she said you never mentioned my name," Dan did his best to sound neutral. Lenore had tried to bring up the Rolling Stone e-mail on a few occasions but Dan brushed her off and said it was fine. Maybe a few decades of psychotherapy would make it fine or at least help him explain why it wasn't fine but, for now, he didn't want Lenore to feel guilty for a well-intentioned act. He also didn't want to explain (not even to himself) why it was so painful for him to lose control of the things he wrote.

 

Lenore smirked, "I didn't have to mention your name, you were part of her proposal. I thought it was on purpose - a little emotional manipulation - but then she made some comments..." Dan and Lenore winced in unison, "It was obvious she didn't realize we were related."

 

"The day she interviewed me, she told me the magazine already had Lenore Publishing behind it," Dan pointed out, wincing when he realized it sounded more like an accusation than a question.

 

"When she hunted me down, she told me you were a lock," Lenore explained, not appearing to have taken offense and still looking through her salad for apparently anything but lettuce, "I thought it was ballsy and that if she was so sure she could convince you... I can't explain it. I just knew she was a force to be reckoned with and I used my moderate clout to help her along."

 

"You own the company..."

 

"Because my mom died. It's not like she was really running it, either. She had people in place, and I'm just keeping those people in place to make the real decisions. I got Mars some extra money but I couldn't have green-lit the project without the board's approval," Lenore's eyes suddenly widened, "but don't you ever tell her that! I'm getting a write up on Claire and Elizabeth in the first issue, and I got an internship for one of my friends in America lined-up. I'm starting to think there might be a place for me in the business; doling out the cash so talented people can get things done." 

 

Dan had absolutely no opinion on the subject and was pretty sure that made him a bad person. He pulled out his electric cigarette. It was a miserable excuse for a smoke. It was the wrong weight, it didn't cling to the lip, it didn't even make the lungs constrict like they were being squeezed by a python.

 

It also had no scent and could be freely smoked, without guilt, in front of one's fully grown, non-smoking, American daughter. 

 

"I'm thinking I might get a business degree," Lenore said in a hesitant voice that suggested she anticipated hails of derisive laughter.

 

Dan nodded, "You should do whatever the fuck you feel like doing because you're young and smart and you have the means. Get a business degree. Try a clown college, just... just enjoy being young. It doesn't last long."

 

"Is that what you did?" Lenore asked, looking at Dan as though he were in possession of some kind of wisdom.

 

"No. Not exactly. Not at all. I got off to a good start. I moved to London, moved in with Jones, got a job within a week of arriving..."

 

"Then what happened?" Lenore asked, clearly expecting a more interesting answer than Dan had to offer.

 

"Nothing. I'm still at the same job, same squat. I'm a lot older. I mostly gave up pot so my head would be clear. Now I numb myself with liquor, wake myself up with fags and coffee."

 

Lenore cringed at the word fag. 

 

"I already have a degree in Psychology. I just don't know if I want to start over..."

 

"Lenore. Clown college."

 

Lenore laughed, "I always thought I'd make a good mime."

 

"You're like Claire," Dan said, honestly, "You'll do fine."

 

"I'm not like Claire," Lenore laughed, "Claire kind of scares me, she's so intense."

 

Dan nodded, he wasn't afraid of Claire. During a visit home from University, he'd jumped out from behind a door and scared her so badly she'd wet herself. The fact she'd been eight at the time made no difference to Dan. She could get as old as she liked, drink beer, swear, fuck idiots, make overly earnest films... she would always be Dan's little sister. As long as he could rile her up about her man sized hands, she would remain a rather bossy, shouty child to Dan. It didn't matter if she was smarter, tougher and more mature than he, Dan had made her pee herself. The only thing Claire could do to scare Dan was threaten to go away.

 

"You're pretty ballsy," Dan pointed out, "You talked Doug Rocket into showing Claire's film. You've made Mars your lapdog. You're already a mover and a shaker in London."

 

Lenore fiddled with her phone and avoided Dan's eyes, "That's another thing. Do I want to go to school in American or should I stay here?"

 

"You could start at one and move to the other. It doesn't have to be one or the other. You can do whatever you want."

 

It seemed so simple when he looked at Lenore. She was smart, hardworking, ambitious and she was endearingly sincere. If he was Lenore, he'd be in Amsterdam, completely failing to make memories but waking up every morning knowing he had done something he should regret. He would be fucking Ned Smanks but never letting him speak (the total opposite of what Lenore was doing) and he wouldn't give two shits about the hack writer who spawned him. Her. Whatever. He would make the Hiltons look like responsible members of society.

 

"Mars is going to headhunt Ned," Dan added.

 

"We're not dating," Lenore retorted, "We just talk..."

 

"So you've told me and I still don't care," Dan interrupted, "but he's good and Mars will challenge him."

 

Lenore raised an eyebrow.

 

"And, yeah, she might fuck him but Mars loves awards. She'll make him push himself. I told her to steal Sasha, too."

 

"Won't that be... incredibly weird?" Lenore asked, hesitantly.

 

Dan shrugged with forced apathy, "She knows about Jones and I..."

 

"Dan," Lenore said softly, "Maybe you should let Jones know that you're in a monogamous and committed relationship. I think it would take a lot of stress off of you if he knew you were his boyfriend."

 

It was sound advice and Lenore was hardly the first to suggest it. There was no reason Dan shouldn't just tell Jones he wanted to be exclusive. There was no reason not to say, "I want you for myself." No reason other than it made Dan feel old, desperate and a little pathetic. His new metrosexual look really wasn't helping his confidence. All he needed was a bald spot and a convertible and he'd be a walking mid-life crisis stereotype.

 

"I've lived with Jones for... 17? That can't be right, it's been a lot of years. We don't need to make things complicated," Dan explained.

 

"Have you told him Sasha might be following you to your new job?" Lenore asked with forced casualness.

 

"He hasn't been awake..."

 

"It's been days," Lenore pointed out. Dan nodded. Jones had probably woken up a few times in the last couple of days but only once while Dan was around. Jones had pulled him down onto the bed to exchange blow jobs. Jones was dead to the world before Dan had a chance to let him know about the new job. It was pretty standard behavior for Jones.

 

"Do yourself a favor and just tell him 'I don't want you to have sex with bar skanks.' I think he'll be receptive... whenever he wakes up."

 

Dan thought it over, "Maybe. You gonna tell Ned you fancy him but you don't date stupid people?"

 

Lenore put her hands to her face, reminding Dan so much of Marilyn it hurt, and said, "I don't really mind that he's not bright. I just don't want to start something that's not going to go anywhere."

 

"If I took that approach to life, I'd have never done anything. Ever. I certainly wouldn't have gone to work this morning. I wouldn't have combed my hair."

 

His wisest decisions were to have unprotected sex with someone twice his age and move into a squat with a coked up teenage DJ.

 

"I hate to say it, Dan," it always sounded just a little too close to dad, "but your hair... it looks kind of awesome. The teeth are a bit white, though."

 

xxx

 

"I do love the hair," Jonatton said as he waved Dan towards a seat, "How is the lovely Lenore?" Jonatton had pounced on him on his way through the door when he returned from lunch.

 

"She's fine and I have work to do so if you could just get to the point..."

 

"Mars is, as I've said, an amazing woman but not discrete."

 

Jones didn't even know about the job offer yet.

 

"I haven't actually agreed to anything..."

 

"I know what she's offering you, Dan, you'd be a fool not to take the offer. That doesn't mean we won't miss you here at Sugar Ape," Jonatton said in a cordial tone.

 

"I don't think you'll have a problem replacing me," Dan smirked. 

 

"It's not just about finding a new grumpy writer, Dan. I can replace you as a writer in a heartbeat but it takes years to create a persona like yours. These young people love what you've become but there are readers who have been following you for years, watching you go from an angry young man full of ideals to a jaded, bitter old man with a spray tan and no self control, all in the course of a decade. Your writing is fine, Dan. It's your narrative that I'll miss."

 

It wasn't kind but it wasn't completely unfair so Dan shrugged it off, "Bring in Barley. He'll have a bitter decline."

 

"I'll accept your resignation but you owe us a final article and it needs to meet my standards. Then you can leave with my best wishes," Jonatton said as he pulled the single malt from the shelf, "You have written some amazing things, I'll miss you?"

 

Dan accepted the Scotch. He was trying to only drink between 5pm and 5am but he wasn't going to turn down the good stuff.

 

"I assume you have a last article in mind already? Unnecessary colonoscopy? Administered by an angry transvestite? On stage while Barely DJ's?"

 

"Bit over the top? No, Dan, I just want a movie review. Claire's film is showing next weekend at the Place. Write it up."

 

"I'm not going to bash my sister's movie," Dan sneered, "That's just lazy. What's my real assignment?"

 

"That's it. Review the film. Use it as an opportunity to support your sister, give her some free press," Jonatton looked coolish but not angry.

 

"I don't get it. What's your angle?" Dan was feeling queasy.

 

"I just want to read it. The readers will like the personal aspect. It will be interesting to read how you feel about your sister's work. Claire is so very earnest and you're so..." Jonatton cringed dramatically, "Good literature and all that? Go in peace, Danbo. Fill up your glass on the way out."

 

Dan literally filled the glass because he was starting to get it. He would be watching the film through his fingers and pissed off his tits. What would he write? He couldn't be honest.

 

Honesty would be a bad thing. A very bad thing.

 

Dan downed the whiskey before he reached his desk. His head was swimming as he sat down. He could feel Sasha's disapproval as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and stuck two in his mouth. He couldn't inhale the poison fast enough.


	8. Dan's Ugly Shirt

Jones was on his third coffee and feeling good when Dan came home looking like shit. He was pale under his faded fake tan and his perfect hair looked droopy. Until recently, the fact Dan was already drunk wouldn't have been worrying but Dan had been slowing down lately. 

 

"All right, Dan?"

 

Dan stumbled into Jones' arms, he was an affectionate drunk but he seemed off.

 

"What's up, big man?" he asked, returning Dan's enthusiastic embrace, "Rough day at the office?"

 

"Jonatton is trying to ruin my life," Dan mumbled into Jones shoulder.

 

"Again?"

 

"He's angry that I'm going to work for Mars..."

 

"You are? When did that happen?" Jones was mildly surprised. Dan had a unique ability to love and loathe people in equal parts so it was at once totally surprising and totally predictable that he would return to Mars. 

 

"My own column, more money... I think I'm better when I work for her."

 

Dan was wearing the lost and vulnerable look that so rarely peeked out through his irritable facade. Since the day they met, when Dan (hammered on two drinks) had confessed the article that got him hired at Sugar Ape, The Non-Dream of the Nineties, had been a fluke - a rare flash of inspiration that he was certain he'd never repeat - Jones had wanted to hold Dan and reassure him. He also wanted to do a myriad of other things to the handsome Northerner, but reassuring had been at the top of the list. Dan had seemed so heterosexual back then. He didn't know shit about how to pull a girl, Dan just brooded and shared his deep thoughts and the girls came running.

 

And then Dan sent them running away.

 

Jones kissed Dan, gratified by the way Dan immediately melted into the kiss - all his worries apparently buried beneath his libido. Dan's pants were around his ankles, and Jones was on his knees, before he bothered to ask about his sister's whereabouts.

 

"Last minute editing with Barley, she won't be home for hours," Jones explained before wrapping his lips around Dan's half-hard cock.

 

"Fuck, Jones," Dan mumbled. Dan was still slightly tanned and his teeth were startlingly white (despite plenty of coffee and the occasional real cigarette). His body hair still bore the signs of 'manscaping' and it made him look less manly, less 'straight'. It was almost kinky. Jones had never gone down on an upper class git before. He felt like a rent boy. 

 

As soon as he came, Dan was on his knees, wrapping his arms around Jones.

 

"I don't want you to do this with other people," Dan sighed, "I know I don't have any right to ask but, I want you know... I just want you to be with me."

 

Jones snuggled into Dan's arms, he smelled like real cigarettes and Scotch but he was talking about relationships - strange but familiar.

 

"Do you mean..." Jones chose his words carefully, "That you want to be like..."

 

"Monogamous," Dan clarified, just as Jones said, "Boyfriends?"

 

Jones had rather been under the impression they were monogamous since the night Dan had bragged about not getting a blowie from a stranger. They'd been having unprotected sex for weeks.

 

"Are you still fucking other people?" Jones asked. Maybe the switch to johnny free sex was because they just ran out of johnnies, and Dan couldn't be bothered to buy more. Jones wished he'd thought to ask at the time. Everything seemed romantic and meaningful on ecstasy. 

 

Dan shook his head vehemently and then turned pale, "Never get this drunk again..."

 

"Sure, Dan. So... we're monogamous?"

 

Dan cringed, "Boyfriends?"

 

"Do you prefer lovers?"

 

Dan rolled his eyes.

 

"How about..." Jones scanned his memory for PC terms, "Partners?"

 

Dan smiled, "That's us. Partners. Partners who don't fuck other people even if they are younger, and in better shape, and have more attractive cocks..."

 

"More attractive?" Jones laughed, "Not bigger, but more attractive?"

 

Dan looked down at his lap, "I've always thought... It's just not... It's an ugly penis."

 

Jones laughed until his eyes watered, Dan found the strangest reasons to feel insecure. He leaned down towards Dan's crotch and whispered, "Don't listen to him, you're lovely. Not to mention highly photogenic." 

 

Dan groaned and told Jones to fuck off but Jones was pretty sure he wasn't actually angry; Especially when Dan grabbed some olive oil and let Jones fuck him on the kitchen floor.

 

xxx

 

Lenore was amazed by how different the Suga Rape offices looked in the day. It looked like a nursery for over-sized children rather than the last days of Rome. She was surprised to see the secretary talking on the phone. Her austere beauty wasn't quite what Lenore had pictured. She'd expected someone a little more like Dan. The word slovenly came to mind, but Lenore rejected it as overly judgmental.

 

Lenore hovered awkwardly, waiting to be acknowledged. She hated trying to draw attention to herself. When Sasha hung up the phone, she filed a note and then scanned the room, her eyes falling on Dan. For a moment she smiled slightly before going back to her cool expression. Lenore couldn't decide if Dan's recommendation that Sasha follow him to his new magazine was mature and rational, or just really stupid.

 

"Um... Hi? Excuse me... Um, sorry," Sasha finally heard her and turned in her direction. Her mouth dropped open.

 

"My God," she whispered.

 

"Um, yeah, I'd like to speak to Dan. Mr. Ashcroft."

 

Sasha smiled, "He'd right over there. My god, you look just like him."

 

"Thanks," Lenore said automatically, before wondering if it was a compliment. 

 

Dan had two distinct cowlicks, his teeth were less white and there was a coffee stain on his designer shirt. He was working his way back to Danness.

 

Dan didn't smile but his curt nod seemed to be meant as a welcome.

 

"Sorry to interrupt you..."

 

Dan turned his screen towards Lenore. It said, "Fuck Jonatton Yeah? Yeah." over and over and over again.

 

"You're not interrupting."

 

Lenore held out a plastic bag which Dan took with (probably reasonable) caution.

 

"It looks like... an old shirt?" Dan looked confused.

 

"Yeah, I found it in a parking lot. I washed it, it doesn't have any stains but... I mean it's kind of old and it's cheaply made so it'll probably tug in all the wrong places and I've actually never seen that color before."

 

Dan smiled, "I think it was made out of... some kind of carpet samples. This is really ugly. Thank you."

 

Lenore shrugged, "I know tonight is going to be rough for you as it is, I didn't think you'd want to face it dressed like..."

 

"A tit?"

 

"A gadfly," Lenore offered.

 

"Are you going to let Elizabeth make you up like a blow up doll again?" Dan asked, with no real judgment in his face or voice. 

 

"Maybe," Lenore shrugged, "the more normal I look, the more I'll stick out at the Place. I might wear a scuba suit."

 

"Been done," Dan replied, he didn't sound like he was joking.

 

"I'll get out of your hair..."

 

"Thanks for the ugly shirt."

 

"You're welcome and... if you need help. Like if you need someone with a little more distance... I like the film."

 

"I'm sure I will, too," Dan said with a tight smile.

 

"Yeah, so... I'll see you tonight."

 

As Lenore was leaving, she noticed Sasha holding back a laugh. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Dan holding up his new, old ugly shirt. 

 

xxx

 

Lenore suggested Claire go for a conservative look so she'd be taken seriously as a young female director. Elizabeth said she should get her tits out so she'd get more press. Claire compromised with a fitted suit from Top Shop (on Dan's dime) and a scoop neck top that was only revealing when viewed from above. Nathan looked down at her cleavage and feigned a heart attack. 

 

Jones was at the turntable, and as soon as Claire walked in the room, Michael Jackson's "P.Y.T (Pretty Young Thing) started playing. She knew Dan was already in his seat. He'd left early in his ugly shirt and a beautiful suit jacket. He'd had his recorder and notebook in a mailbag, his Suga Rape (it clearly did not say Sugar Ape) badge on his pocket. Claire couldn't remember the last time he looked so professional. It would have been endearing if Dan wasn't such a fucking selfish back-stabbing dick.

 

Claire was preparing herself from the worst. The odds of Dan actually liking the film and writing something positive was about a billion to one. On the other hand, Dan was down to half a pack a day of real cigarettes, had a boyfriend and a fake tan. Dan could occasionally be unpredictable.

 

"Jonatton Yeah? at three o'clock," Elizabeth warned, "Want me to go punch him in the cock? He looks like the kind of guy who would be bad at telling black people apart, so I think I can get away with it."

 

Claire rolled her eyes while Lenore giggled into her hand.

 

"I can't wait to get this over with," Claire snapped, her palms were sweaty and her heart was racing. She was surprised each time she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked so calm and collected.

 

"Angel tits! Bring your tasty..."

 

"Shut it, Nathan!" she barked as she walked towards him. He was a dick but he had a sixth sense when it came to finding people to give him money. He hadn't a single talent and yet he had a following and his own website. People handed him money instead of beating him senseless. He was, in some ways, a good business partner.

 

"Monkey Muff, this is Beryl. Beryl runs 'Lost in Time'. We were just saying how your film would be perfect cause it is well timeless."

 

'Lost in Time' was the artiest of the art house theaters. Claire would love to have her movie show there but she couldn't help feeling disappointed that it was run by the kind of person who could be suckered in by Nathan Barley.

 

xxx

 

There was some laughter in the wrong places, Claire would never see the humor of the junkie choir, but the film was well-received. Doug Rocket called her a genius (meaningless), Beryl wanted to show her film (amazing) and Nathan was strutting around taking credit (typical). She tried not to look at Dan, there was no use trying to guess what was going on in his head. She couldn't help but notice him taking constant notes during the film and while milling around the crowd. Dan had been a fastidious note taker before he realized no one gave a shit about the content of his articles. Part of her was happy to see him taking an assignment so seriously. The other part just wanted to know what the fuck he was writing about her.

 

xxx

 

There is literally no point in reading this review. The film is by my sister, I am credited with "additional material" and I did some of the voice-overs so I haven't a scrap of objectivity, nor do I know anything about films. This assignment is my punishment for leaving Sugar Ape, the magazine that made my career and broke my spirit. I am an authority on one topic and one topic only: cool. How do I know what is and is not cool? I am a miserable misanthrope and hating everything is well cool these days. Once sincerity comes back in style, I will be out of a job.

 

Or perhaps I'll just become retro.

 

My sister's movie isn't cool, it is a serious look at the neglected members of London society: junkies, whores, crazies and the homeless. The highlight or lowlight of the film, depending on your level of irony, is the Junkie Choir. Yes, a bunch of recovering addicts singing maudlin and saccharine songs about faith and recovery. The whole embarrassing debacle is shot with such loving sincerity and compassion that it only makes it harder not to laugh. You'll feel guilty if you laugh, but you'll feel worse if you don't.

 

This movie won't change your life. If you didn't give a fuck about homeless junkies before, you won't suddenly have compassion for your fellow man. The people who will be moved by this movie are the people who already care. For the rest of us, the film causes a brief stirring of guilt that disappears the first time you encounter one of these unsavory characters in the street. For me, the spell was broken when a woman with lips blistered from a crack pipe offered to suck my dick as I walked back to my flat. Perhaps I should have sat down with her, asked her how she came to such a sorry place in life but she was disgusting and I didn't want to get stabbed. Sorry, seamy underbelly, you are just too fucking seamy for my tastes. 

 

I don't know if "Down in Londontown" is a good movie or not. It seems well shot, there's a fluid narrative and a mixture of humor and pathos. I think I would have enjoyed it if weren't made by my younger sister. I used to watch the filmmaker shove her finger up her nose and devour the delicacies found within. Once, while our parents were out of town, the filmmaker had a nightmare so I gave her some warm milk and let her sleep in my bed. A few hours later, I woke up in a puddle of urine. It wouldn't be the last time but it remains the only time I've woken up in a puddle of someone else's piss. Claire can know I am a chain-smoking, neurotic, alcoholic asshole and love me regardless and view my work with at least some objectivity, but I will always have double vision when it comes to her. She is, at once, my current flat mate and confidant and the noisy baby that ruined my childhood. I have never fully accepted her as an adult and a contemporary and while she is probably my best friend, the reverse will never be true. I love her as much as I've ever loved anyone and I respect her, but how seriously can I take someone who eats their own bogies?

 

Go see "Down in Londontown", call it your good deed for the year. Tell your friends how much you give a shit about the disenfranchised. Don't worry if you laugh in the wrong places or if you're too fucking cynical to be moved, because Claire Ashcroft cares enough for all of us. 

 

Dan smoked six cigarettes in the time it took Jones to read the review. When Jones looked up and smiled, Dan felt such a wave of relief he felt weak in the knees.

 

"Is she going to hate me?" Dan asked, trying and failing to sound cynically detached. Jones kissed Dan's newly stubbled cheek.

 

"You said it all right here, Dan. She knows you. She'll get it better than anybody."

 

"Will she be angry?'

 

"Dan, this is Claire we're talking about," Jones said as he kissed Dan's jaw line, "Course she'll be angry. Let's have a shag before she gets home. It won't be much longer until Barley pisses her the fuck off and she ditches him at the restaurant."

 

Nathan was taking Claire out to celebrate "their" success.

 

"If Nathan Barley lays a hand on her, I will rip it off."

 

"No you won't. Last one in the bedroom sleeps in the wet spot!"


	9. Well Epilogued

Sasha licked her hand and smoothed down the side of Dan's hair before letting him out of the cab outside the theater. If she could have wiped away his five o'clock stubble with a bit of saliva, she surely would have. Dan secretly relished the fact his hair would soon be at that length where it would just puff out around his ears and there would be nothing anyone could do to make it look good. It would just have to grow out.

 

Or Mars would have him held down and shorn like a sheep.

 

While her sexual appeal did not disappear the moment Dan realized he was in love with Jones (part of him had rather thought that's how true love worked), working intensely with Sasha had made it clear that they could never have been a real couple. Her compulsive organization and focus made her an amazing personal assistant but, at the end of the day, Dan was happy to go back to being a shambles. He stumbled into the office in the morning, Sasha told him what to do and where, then he went home to Jones and their now filthy apartment. 

 

Claire had moved in with Elizabeth a few months earlier, after Lenore headed back to the states to take some business classes at Harvard. Dan and Lenore's monthly Thursday lunch had become a monthly Thursday video chat (set up by Sasha, Dan could really only use word processing programs and porn sites). He never asked her or Ned if they were keeping in touch. Ned had nearly endeared himself to Dan since coming on board at E-lite. Mars worked him like a dog but he thrived under the pressure. When E-lite covered Claire's film, the layout was a work of art. Sasha had the piece framed and wrapped before handing the package and bill to Dan. Claire had punched him in the arm, and told him he was going soft, but there had been tears in his eyes. Sasha had all those social skills Dan was lacking and seemed to consider making him less of a fuck-up to be an essential part of her job. Knowing Mars, it was probably in her job description and along with arranging speaking engagements. Dan speaking in front of crowds, small crowds but still. Turns out students will listen raptly to any bullshit that comes from a published writer (and then offer to buy him coffee or suck his dick afterwards). 

 

Ned had truly impressed Dan when he, unprompted, edited the fake tan out of Dan's staff photo and made the hair look a little more unruly. Sasha, her ear forever to the ground, said Mars had screamed at him, but Ned held his ground saying Dan's metro look made him look like a prick and Dan was supposed to be cool. It took a lot to stand up to Mars, or so Dan imagined. He had never really tried. Ned Smanks wouldn't be the worst person in the world for Lenore.

 

Not that Dan considered it any of his business.

 

Dan gave a half-hearted wave in return to Ned's enthusiastic greeting as he entered the theater. Dan was doing a profile on young playwright, Elizabeth Marchand. While Elizabeth had landed on Mars' radar because of Dan's "controlling bitch of a daughter" (Mars' nickname for Lenore), she was getting a profile because Mars thought she was talented and sexy. Mars' exact words were, "She's fit, Black, has big tits and some talent. That's what this magazine is all about."

 

Dan wasn't exactly proud of working for E-lite but he liked his job. He had total control of his own column and a good bit of leeway when he accepted assignments for cover stories. He had already had two interviews with Elizabeth and would do a third after the opening of her show. She was charming, self-effacing and intelligent - he didn't need threats from Claire to write a positive article and yet the threats came. He and Claire spent nearly as much time together now as when they lived together, perpetually seeking one another out to deal with the surprising hassle that was success. Claire had her own idiot following and everyone with a camcorder wanted her to watch their "films". She was vague about why she hadn't shaken off her parasite, Barley, now that she had her own resources. The idea of Claire sleeping with Barley was disgusting, the idea of her having feelings for him was unbearable. Claire was such a sucker for a lost cause. In fact, she had made a career out of it.

 

"Dan?"

 

Dan's first response was to check his cell phone, assuming he had pocket dialed Lenore but there she was, in the flesh.

 

"I came to surprise Elizabeth!" Lenore exclaimed, "You look amazing? Almost healthy and... respectable?"

 

Dan shrugged and pointed at Sasha who explained Mars had hired her to keep Dan on track, and she had mouths to feed. Dan was not at all offended when Lenore suggested Sasha get hazard pay. It didn't occur to Dan to hug Lenore until they tracked down Claire and Elizabeth. He felt a bit guilty for his lack of affectionate instincts (when sober), but noticed Lenore looked vaguely uncomfortable as she was showered with affection her by her friends. Maybe being prickly was a genetic trait. When Ned joined them, he gave Lenore an un-ironic handshake and a nervous glance towards Dan. It was definitely better that he not know what was going on there. Sasha went to get their drinks (she was in charge of Dan's drinking at work events, his skin actually looked better the following day from all the water in his whiskey) while the five chatted. Dan was tempted to go inside and watch Jones DJ but he'd been ordered to "mingle" by Sasha and "quit moonin' over me, ya big poof," by Jones. Tonight, Jones was background music but he was getting what he referred to as a "shitload" of money for the gig. Since Jones always did whatever the hell he wanted, there wasn't really an issue of selling out. Unlike Dan, Jones had always known how to ply his trade without selling his soul.

 

xxx

 

The show was a success, the interview was easy and Jones was back at his side. All was well with the world. Sasha had left for the night so he was allowed to drink real drinks and once he was outside, he could smoke real cigs. He was putting in his time with Claire, Elizabeth, Lenore and Ned before he went home. He never cared for crowds but, with liquor, he could go through the motions of being social. Blind drunk he was the life of the party, but that was less and less a part of his life. Crippling self-loathing had eased back into neurotic, compulsive self-doubt. 

 

He was grateful for Lenore's presence when Doug Rocket and Nathan Barley descended on their group at the same time, douche bags in tandem. Nathan was schmoozing away, looking for funding for Claire's next project on immigration. Lenore's discomfort melted into a perfect imitation of self-confidence as Doug gave her a long and creepy hug. Dan told himself his desire to punch Doug Rocket was purely based on his loathing of the man and not any kind of paternal feelings. He wasn't ready for paternal.

 

"Lenny, you charming girl. I've just been talking to Nathan about his next project with Claire, it sounds so... so..."

 

"Relevant?" Lenore supplied.

 

"Yes! And authentic, like this play. When those young men stripped naked on stage, I was moved in a way I have never experienced before, " Doug said to Elizabeth, clutching at his heart like he had said something profound.

 

Dan dug his fingers into Jones' arm and fought the urge to laugh in Doug's face. This night was not about Dan, it was about... well, it was about some girl Claire hung out with but Dan owed it to someone, somehow to be professional. 

 

Doug continued to wax philosophical, mainly about male nudity, as Nathan snapped pics on his Wasp 15.2 for Trash Bat. When he handed the camera to Elizabeth so she could take a picture of him with Doug, Dan nearly lost his temper but he was getting a warning glance from Claire. He dearly hoped she was worrying about her career and not Nathan, but kept his tongue.

 

'Whaddya say, Barley?" Jones asked, "Wouldja get your cock out for a movie? Well arty films usually show some cock."

 

Nathan laughed, "I'd get it out right now!"

 

Claire rolled her eyes, "Please don't."

 

"Do it!" Elizabeth yelled, flirtatiously.

 

"Put up or shut up," added Lenore.

 

"Yeah, like get your cock out," Ned added, never one to not join in a mob mentality.

 

Dan felt sorry for Nathan for just a second as he clearly regretted the corner he'd just painted himself into. He didn't feel bad enough to help him, just a twinge of sympathy as a person who frequently made bad choices (and had his cock out at the wrong time and the wrong place).

 

Giggling, Nathan dropped his pants and threw his hands in the air. Dan looked away in horror until Jones assured him Nathan was covered again.

 

"What are you doing?" Nathan asked Elizabeth as he reached out to retrieve his phone.

 

Elizabeth shrugged, still holding the WASP, "I feel bad that Pingu couldn't come tonight. I know he's busy editing the show for this week but still. It is his birthday."

 

Claire glared at Nathan, "You're making Pingu do all the work for you on his birthday? You are an ass."

 

Nathan looked a bit awkward, "Hey, he didn't say anything..."

 

Elizabeth smiled, "Well, now he has footage to run over the credits! Happy birthday, Pingu."

 

Nathan grabbed his phone as though he could undo what had already been done. If there was one thing Dan had learned in life, it's that you can't un-take a picture of your dick. It was a hard lesson for anyone to learn.

 

Doug praised Nathan's bravery and comfort in his body, and the weasel immediately went back to schmoozing. 

 

"I am man of the naughties, Doug. I'm not afraid to show my body or express my sexuality, whenever, where-ever," Nathan bragged, throwing an arm around Dan before he could duck, "Hell, I sucked this guy's dick before he turned gay."


End file.
